


This Is Just The Afterglow

by homagetoescapism



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Feel-good, Fluff, M/M, Painfully Oblivious, Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 93,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24517843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homagetoescapism/pseuds/homagetoescapism
Summary: Love and hate. Tears and laughter. Whatever else they put in the blurb of a teenage romance/coming of age novel.The line between love and hate is fine, but boy does Elio Perlman walk it hard.
Relationships: Chiara/Oliver (Call Me By Your Name), Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 124
Kudos: 101





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have never been to Vermont and I have never stepped foot in America so if any of this sounds like bullshit to you, that's because it is. However, the town and scenes depicted are not unrealistic where I live so i doubt they would be too much of a reach for Vermont. I haven't set this in an exact time period because I have a lot of music to shove down your throats that has inspired the chapter, has the right vibes for the chapter, or is in the chapter itself. The music is from a variation of years so I couldn't really restrict the story to any particular year.
> 
> Anyway the song for this chapter is 'Ever Fallen in Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've)?' By the Buzzcocks.
> 
> https://youtu.be/51OB2YoC4sg

Unbeknownst to many, there is a small, sleepy town tucked into a quiet corner of Vermont that has been settled under the fine dust of inertia for decades. It is a haven to the old and content, a prison to the young and headstrong, and God knows what to those in between. As small towns often are, it's a breeding ground for gossip, so when Oliver Goodman came to town chins started wagging. About town, he was known primarily as 'old Mrs. Wright's Grandson', and in the highschool he was known as 'that pretty new boy', but in the eyes of Elio Perlman he was nothing but a complete and utter nuisance.

The whole highschool was abuzz with gossip and rumination on his first day. Within his first hour, he had a devout cult of students drooling at his beauty, a football team trying to enlist him based solely on physicality (he towered above most people in the school and was reasonably well-built), and a handful of boys who had already scoped him out as competition in the field of romance. Despite all this, Oliver seemed to be unfazed. Elio had taken one look at his head of golden hair and his strong jaw and his vague similarity to at least, like, four celebrities and had deemed him trouble. He might have taken another look at him soon after, and then quite a stare as everyone settled into their seats in his History class, and then one final good ogle in gym class, but whose business was that? Anyway, he was much too easy on the eyes to be good news. He surely wasn't oblivious to his own beauty, which Elio assumed he used as a crutch to cover up of his lack of humour and intellect. Wasn't that how it was with pretty boys? He wondered how many girls Oliver would go through in his first week. 

Elio didn't like him. That was that. However to his surprise, there were no casualties of Oliver's wiles in the first week, or even the first month. He could hold his own in classes, showing at least some academic intellect, but Elio was yet to hear him make a joke. He always had lack of humour to fall back on when defending his new-found hatred. Chiara admired his beauty. Marzia did not admit it, still unsure of what grounds she was on with Elio, but she also didn't mind the fact that he was strikingly handsome. Everybody loved him. Somebody had to remind him that he wasn't God's personal gift to the world and that job fell to Elio. He didn't spare a scorching glare when they crossed paths in the hallways. If debate was an option in any class, they would verbally spar until the teacher got tired of them, and Oliver found himself to be the constant adversary of Elio in any sport being played in Gym class. The poor boy was probably confused at this unwarranted conflict, but after a week or so of permafrost from Elio, he slipped into the role of mortal enemy with no questions asked. 

It had been three months since Oliver had joined at the end of November, just after Thanksgiving Break, and the battle still waged on.

"Eliooo," Marzia sighed, and he whipped his head around to face her as if she had reached out and struck him.

"Huh?" He replied, still somewhat dazed from being so deep into his previous train of thought.  
"Where did you go?"  
He took a second to answer, tilting his head up to the sky and letting a big sigh escape him. "Just thinking," He murmured eventually.  
She pouted, and then decided not to ask. Both Marzia and Chiara knew how easily he slipped into a trance. He did it often, not out of cold detachment, but rather because he got carried away by his thoughts, like a wisp of cloud on the breeze.

"Today was fun" Chiara beamed, recalling the events of the afternoon. "You know, Marzia, I think Stephen likes you."

Elio glanced over at Marzia, who scoffed and shook her head in dismissal. Chiara was right, of course. Stephen, your average highschool teen, had taken quite a liking to Marzia in the past few weeks. Chiara and Marzia had been forced to share a table with him and his friends in the cafeteria on a particularly rainy mid-February day a few weeks back, and since then, Stephen only had eyes for Marzia. The problem was, everybody had expected something to come of Elio and Marzia's decade long friendship, even Elio and Marzia themselves, so they had been tiptoeing around each other for the past seven months, each waiting for the other to say something. Therefore, the mention of interest from outside parties made things particularly awkward between the two, who had yet to decide what, or more specifically who they wanted. But that's just highschool. If there's a chance to make something about relationships, it'll be done.

"I don't want to talk about it," Marzia blushed, shrugging and pulling her coat tighter around herself.

"Oh 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯, its about time one of us had news on the romance front," Chiara whined. Elio felt the discomfort settling in. He had never liked to talk about dating, or who he liked, or who liked him. It seemed, to him at least, like something so personal, not at all like something that he wanted to joke around with. Sure, he had dated a few girls in the past. Nothing really serious, and it had never lasted long but he didn't see the attraction of binding yourself to someone who you didn't want, who you didn't need with your whole being. Perhaps that's where the hesitation with Marzia came in. He was content with their friendship and he didn't find himself ever wanting more.

Elio had started to drift away from the conversation again, already making up excuses for anticipated questions about who he had his eyes on lately. Thankfully, rather than deflecting the subject to Elio, Marzia threw it back to Chiara.  
"Well don't you have anything to say? You always have a boy on the go, or at least plan to." Marzia accused. Chiara blushed -an uncommon occurence for her- and ducked her head to look at the ground, which still passed them by as they walked at a lazy pace. Despite not really being in the mood for gossip, this piqued Elio's interest. Chiara was usually upfront about who she was into, and Elio had rarely seen her shy or embarrassed in the years that he had known her.

"What's this, Chiara embarrassed by her latest romantic pursuit?" Elio half-heartedly mocked, crossing his arms with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm not embarrassed!" Chiara insisted. "Just- just carry on walking and i'll tell you," He had just now realised that Marzia had stopped walking, clearly about to ask who this person was and what they had done with the real Chiara.

So they did, falling back into their steady stroll eager to hear about this confounding new development in Chiara's love life. The whole thing felt tacky and childish to Elio to be so invested in the romantic tendencies of someone else, but he couldn't help but feel intrigued, and it helped that he knew Chiara wanted to talk about it-that she didn't mind the attention like he did.

"Well go on then," Marzia urged.

"Okay, okay! Just dont laugh," Chiara paused for a second, biting her lip and stretching out the period of anticipation until finally she mumbled: "Oliver Goodman. I like Oliver Goodman."

Elio felt like someone has shoved a vacuum down his throat and manually deflated his lungs. He stumbled and tripped over the curb that he was balancing on, extending a hand towards the floor to push himself back upright. For some reason or another, Elio found himself laughing. Hysterically. To be truthful, laughing was the last thing he had wanted to do. He wanted to lie down on the worn tarmac and get his breath back. He wanted to crawl into his bed and stay there for atleast three working days. Most of all, he wanted to go back to five minutes ago and divert the conversation away from romance and relationships and who likes who, just so he didn't have to hear that godforsaken confession. He was still laughing, mostly because if he stopped he didnt know what he would do.

Elio heard Marzia laugh along at his side, and Chiara clearly took no offence, as she was smirking at them and looking close to laughter herself. Elio folded over and put his hand on his knees, regaining his breath.

"What the fuck?" he gasped out, humor and inquisition still lingering in his tone despite not feeling very humorous. His eyebrows were at his hairline by now. Marzia was still spluttering at his side, laughing at both Elio's fall and Chiara's confession. "Not him. Anyone but him! Everybody likes him Chiara. He's so - God, he's so annoying! And Everybody thinks that he's perfect. Come on, you can do better than that." Elio had barely anticipated his own outburst, but it didn't surprise any of them. He made his distaste for Oliver known to those close to him so that they didn't engage him in Oliver themed conversation.

"I know, you hate him. But he's just so 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. And funny. And easy to talk to."

"And when did you gather this information?" inquired Marzia, who had recovered by now. Elio was nowhere near recovering. He couldnt see himself recovering for at least a few days. "Have you spoken to him?"

"Not exactly, no. I mean, i've borrowed the occasional pencil, given the occasional compliment. I messaged him the other day about one of some homework we were set and we spoke for a while," She offered, smiling sheepishly.

"How long?" Asked Marzia, looking more and more enthralled by the minute. To Elio, it was like watching a horror movie. For the life of him he wanted to look away, to stop listening, but for some reason he stayed and lingered on every word, waiting for the next one despite his surety of it being worse than the last.

"Never mind how long!" Elio interjected, "What do you mean 'likeable and funny'? He has as much personality and humour as- as..." He floundered for a second, looking around for something to compare the cretin to and settling upon a hunk of dog shit on the side of the path, "As much personality and humour as that!" He exclaimed, gesturing towards it. Chiara turned up her nose and sidestepped it before turning to scoff at Elio.

"How would you know what he's like? You haven't had one civil conversation with him since he joined last year!" 

"He's just no good. I mean look at him- they would cast him in a Disney Live Action as Hercules. If you got into a relationship with him it would be dull and it would last, like, two weeks and it would take a whole other week for his five braincells to process that you're breaking up with him!" Elio knew this wasn't true - the part about him being stupid - because he had shown himself to be quite smart over the months, if not exceedingly so. But he would forget about that for now, just to bolster his argument.

"Why do you care? Jealous?" Chiara arched one thin, shapely eyebrow at him. For a second he assumed she was asking if he was jealous of her and her potential relationship with Oliver, and his stomach dropped. That was one thing he could do without thinking about. He quickly realised she was teasing him about being jealous of Oliver, and the fact that if he so wished he could be with Chiara in a heartbeat. He didn't mind the joke; there had never been anything remotely close to a romantic relationship between himself and Chiara, nor would there ever be. They were more like cousins, or perhaps siblings who didn't acknowledge eachother at a reach.

"Very funny," he glared at her, hoping they didn't notice the moment of hesitation. He didn't say anything more on the topic, suddenly feeling so uncomfortable with the his first interpretation of Chiara's comment that he just wanted to talk about something senseless and boring, like the weather or the English homework due in next Monday. However, Chiara and Marzia continued with the conversation, not noticing his sudden change of heart.

"So, how long have you been talking?" Marzia repeated, swaying one way to bump Elio's shoulder and then the other to bump Chiara's. 

"Uh, about a month maybe?"

"A month? And you never thought to tell me?"

Elio let the conversation filter out after that. He stared up at the darkening sky, letting muscle memory guide him down the side walk. He didn't know how long they had been walking when Chiara said her farewells and turned down the driveway to her house. "Text me or we can talk more about it tomorrow," she shouted, clearly to Marzia, and then threw a wave over her shoulder and stepped into the glow emanating from her front door.

"Wow. I can't believe she didn't tell us sooner," Marzia mused.

"Hm? Oh yeah. Crazy." Elio replied half-heartedly, still lost in thought. 

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" Apparently Marzia had picked up on his unrest. He replied a bit too flippantly, but she didn't seem to mind.

"You just seem, well, I don't know. Quiet. Reserved." She was too observant.

"Oh, I'm fine, just tired is all." They got to the corner of the road where they would part ways, each going to their own house. Elio pulled her into a side hug and kissed her cheek. Marzia was used to European mannerisms, so she didn't read into it too much. 

"See you tomorrow. Good night," She said returning a chaste kiss on his cheek before ducking out from underneath his arm and turning down her road. 

"Bye," He replied, and she turned to wave over her shoulder. She wasn't sure what she wanted from Elio. Their friendship was comfortable and familiar and she didn't often find herself wishing for more than that, but some days, when she did find herself wishing for someone to kiss and to hold and to love, she saw Elio. Whether it was out of just being close to him or actually wanting to date him, she didn't know. She expected she would have to put some serious thought into that before diving straight in.

The street that Elio walked along became more and more sparsely populated, while each house grew slightly bigger and each garden became slightly more extravagant. To put it plainly, he was rich. He lived in a decent house in the suburbs. It wasn't the kind of house that screamed 'too much money but nothing to do with it so we spent it on making the most outlandish house possible' although they probably could have afforded that. Instead, it was a Georgian style house, not particularly stately and grand but rather cosy and cottage-esque, with ivy shrouding some of the long, panelled windows and a stone pathway leading from a spindly gate and arch to the porch. A lot of the houses on the street looked like this, even more so as the road progressed further into the richer suburbia. However, there was still the occasional garish eyesore built on plots of land in the neighbourhood by those with too much disposable income and a Delia Deetz-like flair for architecture.

Elio's parents had chosen to keep him integrated in normal society: no private schools and no flashy house with seven cars and maids and butlers. Instead, he lived in a small town, went to a public school, didn't base his entire personality around his parent's wealth and success, didn't put himself above others who struggled to make ends meet. In fact, he considered them to be above him in some ways; they had extensive knowledge of how cruel life could be and how to make themselves great from the little they have been provided with. His father had been in that situation once, forced to make his way in the world without the help of daddy's money and a trust fund, and he had found himself as a succesful and prestigious professor in a nearby university, giving lectures across the globe, and signing books that he had written.

They didn't have absolutely nothing to show for the wealth that wasn't overly projected from their home (although it clearly didn't look cheap). They owned a villa in Northern Italy that they visited in the summer, and occasionally in the winter. It was a property that reflected their true wealth. There was a tennis court, a swimming pool, an orchard, acres and acres of sunkissed Italian land, not to mention the villa itself, which was paradise, a heaven on Earth to those who appreciated the beauty of age and use.

Elio ambled up the garden path, not even sure if he wanted to go in, to eat, to go to bed. He had so much on his mind that it felt like it might implode and he was sure that if he didn't do something to use up his energy he would be rendered restless for the remainder of the night. He tripped through the front door, kicked off his shoes, and tiptoed through the quiet house into the rustic kitchen. It seemed more Italian than the rest of the house, thanks to Annella. She had not settled into American Suburbia, but rather clung to her roots, visiting Italy at any given chance and adding Italian influences to every room, no matter how small. Today's newspaper was on the kitchen table. Elio plucked it up and then set it back down again after a few seconds, finding nothing interesting on the first page. There was a tell-tale hum of voices coming from the TV in the lounge, so he turned back through the kitchen door and made his way to the other end of the house. The entire room was aglow with firelight coming from the squat log burner nestled in the brick fireplace. There was a lamp turned on on one of the side tables but other than that, all the lights were off. Samuel and Annella Perlman sat on an old but looked-after patterned Weybourne sofa. If it had been in any other room it would have looked tacky and out of place but the room had been styled to match the Georgian background of the house while still welcoming modernity, making it cosy and homely. Annella was wrapped in thick cable-knit cardigan and an old, comfortable-looking pair of jeans to combat the brisk late February weather, despite the heat of the fire burning in the hearth. Samuel was sat with his feet on a short foot-stool and a worn paperback in hand. Between them, their hands were linked in a quiet display of affection. This was the kind of scene that people imagined when they looked into their distant future; sitting in a cosy room, content with life and waiting for their child to come home from school. The pair looked up when Elio entered the room and Elio set down his bag by the doorframe before moving to sit down in one of the armchairs. Annella set down her glass of wine and gestured for Elio to join them on the sofa, so he sat between them and leaned into his mother's embrace. She kissed his dark, curly head before asking "How was your day?"

"Fine, fine. The usual," He replied, finding a strange sense of comfort from the smell of red wine on her breath to the familiar scent of her perfume. 

"Are you hungry, amore mio?"

He paused for a second, taking time to stretch out his legs. 

"Hm, not much. I could probably eat something later," he replied.

"Okay," was her only reply. They sat and watched the TV while Samuel continued reading. There was an old movie playing, and Elio allowed himself to get lost in the plot of it although he was sure he had seen it before. They sat for about an hour until the movie ended, and adverts began to play alongside the closing titles. 

"Soup" Annella stated out of nowhere. It was not a question. She patted his leg before standing and heading towards the kitchen.

He sank further into the couch cussions, looking away from the TV and staring out towards the garden which was darkening with every passing minute. It was only about 5pm but the days were short and dark as winter stretched on. He missed the garden in the summer. It wasn't exactly what you would call tame and kempt. There was a patio of old, yellowed stone slabs, dotted with the occasional plant pot, statuette or stone bust. A pebbled pathway- much like the one in the front garden- stretched away from the patio and wound through a wilderness of bushes and plants and grape vines clinging to rusting arches and trellises. Towards the back of the garden there were a few trees (apple, pear, cherry and God knows what else) sheltering a quiet clearing of reed grass, an old wooden swinging chair and a sun dial table. This was Elio's favourite place to escape to, where he could remain unhindered by his parents who mainly kept to the patio. Right now, the garden seemed sparse and grey, with no leaves on the trees. If there was snow it would have been more bearable, but ice was the only thing winter had to offer so far. The weather forecast warned of snow in the following days but Elio took it with a pinch of salt. 

"You're quiet tonight," Samuel said, and Elio realised that his father had been watching him stare out of the French patio doors for the past few minutes. He dragged his gaze away from the shadowy yard and met his eyes.

"Hm, sorry. Just... thinking," he murmured, lowering his gaze again to look at the old tapestry rug on the oak panelled floor. 

"Nothing to be sorry for. Will you tell me what you're thinking about?" 

"Snow. School. I don't know, it's nothing important"

His father chuckled softly at that and tussled Elio's hair, who tilted his head to rest on the back of the couch. 

"Well, if you want to talk about anything..." he tailed off, as Elio already knew the end of that sentence. Samuel, ever the good father, was always quick to remind and reassure his son that he was a reliable confidant. 

"Thanks," Elio replied, having nothing to speak of right now. They settled into a comfortable silence, as Samuel picked his book back up and Elio stared at the TV. It was a Talk show so Elio zoned out, uninterested in what they were speaking about. 

"Why were you back so late?" Samuel asked with no conviction in his voice. He was only asking out of curiosity.

"Oh, Chiara wanted to finish a project for her art class so Marzia and I stayed with her and finished our History essays while we waited,"

"Good, good," he mused. "Did the essay go smoothly?"

"Yeah, I don't mind history much so it was pretty easy,"

He received a smile from his father and they settled back into a companionable silence, with Elio watching TV and his father reading his book.

They were called in to eat fifteen minutes later, where the raw, unvarnished oak table was set with three steaming bowls of tomato and herb soup and a plate of sliced bread. There was no wine, as Annella didn't endorse pairing wine with soup. They settled down into their chairs and ate. A conversation was sparked up between Samuel and Annella, half English half Italian, with a few words of French thrown in for good measure. Elio zoned out once again, his mind set on Chiara's confession and the uneasiness it sparked within him. He'd have to delve into that another time. He didn't really feel like going on a mental journey of self-discovery at the dinner table. He ate the soup, picked at some bread, and joined in on the conversation when appropriate. Dinner felt different here. He didn't have to compete with a table full of guests to get a word or two into the conversation as he did in the villa in Italy. 

Elio helped to clear the table after they finished the meal, carrying the dishes to the sink and slathering them in washing-up liquid before filling the sink with hot water. He didn't know why they didn't own a dishwasher, it would save them a lot of time. His mother took over dish-washing duty, taking pity on him for once, so he returned to the lounge where he left his bag and then promptly made his way up the stairs. They were old and well-used, and the creaking felt like a lullaby to Elio, who had grown accustomed to the noise ever since he could climb the stairs. He reached the top and traversed the landing, going to the end of the hall and finally reaching his bedroom. There were five rooms on the second floor of the house: four bedrooms (three of which had a bathroom) and a main bathroom, which was used mostly by guests staying in the room without an ensuite. The bottom story of the house consisted of the kitchen and lounge, of course, a study, a library, and a formal dining room used for company. The library had to be Elio's favourite room in the house. The ceilings were high, as they were throughout the rest of the house. It was decorated with dark mahogany book cases, which covered two of the walls, dark green paint on the other two walls that were not completely covered by books and paintings, and gold furnishings. The photo frames, the side tables, a few of the antique ornaments, all gold. There were two tanned leather Chesterfield sofas facing each other, separated with a glass-topped and golden-framed coffee table to match the side tables. It all screamed antiquity and sophistication, and Elio loved it. 

He had chosen the smallest bedroom as his own, which was really not that small. All of the rooms in the house were reasonably sized: not ridiculously big but definitely bigger than the average house. He didn't like the way the larger bedrooms felt when there was not enough stuff to fill them up. He plastered his bedroom walls with tasteful posters and a few photos or paintings if they suited him. This, along with the old orange cotton-covered armchair, the embroidered rug on the floor, the grand desk and wardrobe and the well-stocked bookcase made the room seem small enough to be intimate and cosy. Elio dropped his backpack underneath the hat stand that he had packed with dressing gowns and jackets and anything else he couldn't be bothered to put in his wardrobe. He turned on the floor lamp by the armchair and drew the curtains closed before turning on his CD Player and slumping down onto his bed. The lazy beat of the drum and the gentle warbling of an air guitar almost lulled him to sleep, so he rolled over onto his stomach to rub his fists against his eyes. The uneasy feeling from earlier still hadn't left him. If anything it was worse. It settled in his stomach and turned his arms to lead. He had a feeling that he would have to get to the bottom of it if he wanted it to go away. Where to start? He could barely remember the exact reason that he felt like this in the first place.

He remembered thinking about Oliver. About how he was probably the type to make his way through every Junior girl in their school within a few months and then come back for seconds before the year was done. Then he would probably start picking at the older sophomores. Elio hated pretty boys. They couldn't be trusted. However, he couldn't really see why he cared so much. As long as his friends remained unharmed by it, he shouldn't be bothered by the antics of Oliver Goodman. If he thought about it reasonably, he shouldn't be bothered by Oliver Goodman at all. There were no antics so far. In fact, there wasn't even anything remotely antic-y. He hadn't dated anyone yet, and Elio knew this because if he did it would be hot school gossip for weeks. He hadn't even done anything to suggest that he liked anyone. He made friends- lots, actually- did his work, kept his head down and his hand up in classes. That was another annoying thing about him. Elio, who was regarded by many as effortlessly smart had been matched in intellect. He had expected Oliver to be a clueless oaf, but if anything he was quite the opposite. Still, none of this answered his question: why was he so unsettled by Oliver?

He pictured his stupid, stupid face and his annoying hair and his obnoxiously big body and his heart felt like it had dropped through his ass, as if he was on a rollercoaster and they had just dropped down from a peak. With blinding speed, he rolled onto his back and sat up, trying to dispel the image of Oliver from his mind. He stood, holding his head in his hands and stormed over to the CD player, jabbing at the off button. Without really being fully aware of what he was doing, he changed into a pair of grey sweats, pulled on his running shoes and shoved his headphones into his ears, opening the music app on his phone and allowing it to drown out any coherent thoughts. He walked straight past the mirror, trying not to acknowledge the fact that in the matching grey sweats he look like a convict. Angrier than he had been all day, Elio stormed down the stairs, trying not to stomp too much and alert his parents to his bitter mood. He poked his head into the kitchen, where they stood with cups of coffee and announced that he was going for a run.

"It's dark out, Elio," cooed his mother.

"I know, I'm not going far. I'll be back soon," 

He turned and headed to the front door, shouting a "Bye!" in the general direction of the kitchen in case his departure seemed too brusque. Running was the only thing he felt he could do right now other than literally scream to dispel this sudden bout of frustration. So he ran. He ran back in the general direction of the school, taking a left where he would normally take a right to get to the school gates. By the time he reached the park, his chest and his legs were burning from the long period of exertion with no breaks. He stopped running at the park gates, and instead strolled down the path leading to the rickety children's playground. It was illuminated by the orange glow of a streetlamp in looming over the gated play area. There was a group of sophomores that Elio recognised sat on and around the roundabout smoking. He was friends with or at least known by most people around his age in school, so he tried his luck at bumming a cigarette from them.

"Elio!" One of them exclaimed, and by the looks of them they were either drunk or high, "Are you gonna come sit with us?"

"No, no. Got some stuff to think about." He held his hand out towards the guy holding the pack of cigarettes, who offered it up without hesitation. Being everyone's friend had its benefits. 

"This isn't, like, weed or anything?" He asked, taking a cigarette from the box and squinting into the open end of it but struggling to see in the gloom of the lamppost. He was not in the mood to get high tonight. 

"No, just the usual stuff. Tobacco, I mean," replied the one who had held the box out to him. Someone passed him the lighter and he held it up to his face, sheltering the flame from the breeze with his hand and lighting the cigarette in his mouth. 

"Right. Thanks," He stood for a minute, listening to the conversation about someone's 'bitch of a mom' before turning and heading towards the swings. He sat and pushed himself off lightly with his feet, letting the sway and the familiar creak of the chain calm him. The smoke he exhaled was barely discernible from the fog he produced as the heat of his breath mixed with the freezing night air. He didn't really know why he had come here. He had wanted to run, to forget about what he had felt earlier. This inaction would lead to nothing good. He didn't want to learn anything more about himself and why he detests Oliver so much. Ignorance is bliss, so they say. Upon taking a particularly long drag of his cigarette, Elio realised that there was still music playing through his headphones. He paused it, somehow finding it too much effort to think and listen at the same time. 

Without his permission, his mind slipped back to Oliver, and his stomach jumped again. He choked on the smoke in his lungs, gasping a "Jesus Christ," before settling down. The group of sophomores glanced over at him for a second and upon finding he was fine, continued with their conversation. Elio was even more angry now. He was pretty sure your stomach didn't flip at the thought of how much you can't stand someone. Sighing, he let his hand holding the cigarette fall to his lap while the other gripped the chain of the swing. He rested his head against the hand gripping the cold metal and let his mind drift back to Oliver, finally giving in and not suddenly changing his train of thought when his heart leapt from his chest. This time, he pictured him without employing the hatred or cold indifference for scientific purposes. For research. He was very handsome. He had never lied to himself on that matter. But that wasn't odd in itself. No matter how much some of the more toxically masculine insist, boys did acknowledge how attractive other boys are. Perhaps he was jealous. Perhaps he wanted to have half the school after him too, but that just didn't make sense. He was quite content with the way he looked, thank you very much. People complimented him enough, and he had declined multiple romantic and sometimes just plainly sexual advances. Elio wasn't sure that he was the type of person that would suit being big and brawny and Movie star handsome. At that moment, a previously unconsidered thought slipped into his head. Maybe he was the type of person that would suit being with someone big and brawny and Movie star handsome. He furrowed his brows at that thought, and brought the cigarette up for another drag. 

This was uncharted territory. He pictured Oliver yet again. He imagined his lips, and how he stood a head taller and almost twice as wide chest-wise than him. He imagined how good it would feel to just once be wrapped up in those stupid fucking arms. Oh God, what he would do for a hug, literally just a hug. And then he caught himself. He had never thought like this before. Was it because he had never allowed himself to think like this before? Since the day Oliver joined, Elio had vowed to hate him forever. He caught one look at him and straight away let himself feel nothing but disdain and dislike. It wasn't even because he didn't think he liked boys like that. A few times before he had found himself imagining, daydreaming about some guy from a TV show his mother liked, or as stereotypical as it was, the man that had replaced their usual postman who was sick with the flu. He had come to terms with this, and had decided that he was most likely bisexual but he had never felt the need to come out or anything, as first of all the people that he actually cared about probably wouldn't mind, so if one day he chose to introduce a boyfriend they wouldn't really make too much of a fuss, and second of all he had never actually liked anyone from school before, let alone a boy. He had grown up with all of them, in true small town fashion. He saw all of their awkward phases, all of their embarrassing moments, and he had come to the realisation that most of the attractive people were too spoiled with attention and praise to build an interesting personality. And no, he didn't go exclusively for attractive people: he would rather have someone that he can actually enjoy spending time with, but that still didn't open up any opportunities for him. He took company in small doses. It made him sound terrible, but there weren't many people he could put up with for too long without growing tired of them or learning that they weren't worth the time anyway. Marzia, sometimes Chiara, and very occasionally a select amount of school friends were the exception to this. He had know Marzia since childhood and he had not grown tired of her yet, but he still wasn't sure that he actually wanted to date her. He had known Chiara since they started highschool in 9th Grade, and he hadn't spent more than a day with her, therefore having time to recharge his social battery every night before seeing her again. Perhaps he would find that like Marzia, he could stand her company for long periods of time. He hoped that was the case. 

Hit train of thought had diverged, and he was scrambling to get back to Oliver, feeling that familiar short-lived high again when he did. It was weaker this time, and he thought that maybe it was like the smell of bleach. When you have been using it, or you've been around it for long enough you don't notice the smell, but if it catches you off guard it smells as strong as ever. Did he want that? Did he want to become comfortable enough with thinking about Oliver that it no longer made his heart fall through his ass? One thing was clear. He didn't actually hate Oliver as much as he pretended to, or as much as he wanted to. He was using it as a defence mechanism. He was tempted to go on using it, because what use would admitting to himself that he liked Oliver (or at least the thought of Oliver) be? Oliver, who was unattainable and seemingly very straight. He knew he shouldn't assume, seeing as he could be wrong because people assumed that Elio was straight, and they were definitely wrong. And none of this mattered if Oliver turned out to be an unbearable asshole with the personality of, as he said earlier, literal dog shit.

"For fuck's sake," He muttered to himself while standing up, throwing the butt of the cigarette on the floor and grinding it out with his foot. Walking back towards the park gate, he passed the sophomores again.

"Isn't it past your bedtime?" He quipped. How original. It earned him a few laughs, a few middle fingers and one "sorry mom," that he snorted at. 

He reached the park gate and checked the time on his watch. It was half past eight, and he had been out for about an hour. He started running again as soon as he passed the gate, and he pressed the play button on his headphones, welcoming the noise of the music. The song that he had paused halfway through earlier at the playground finished, and the next song began with the riffs of a blaring guitar. He didn't pay much attention to it after the initial shock of such a bold start, but when the chorus began, the irony wasn't lost on him. He was bombarded with the question "Ever fallen in love with someone you shouldn't've fallen in love with?" again and again until he pulled his phone from his pocket and skipped the song. He didn't really feel like laughing along with the Universe's big joke right now. He definitely wasn't dealing with love, but he did know this:

Elio Perlman had a big, fat, undeniable crush on Oliver Goodman.


	2. Punch It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day of mixed feelings and far too much confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update wasn't sooner, its kind of hard for me to get into a rhythm at the beginning of the story where its just a lot of scene setting, but I have so many scenes that I'm so excited to write for this so I'm hoping to pick up the pace soon. This chapter is also quite long I think.
> 
> Are American classes divided by ability? Because where I'm from there is a set of classes in order from those that are more abled, to average, to those who need more assistance. I'm not really sure if American year groups are divided like this so I didn't write anything too definitive about it.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy chapter two! I'll keep em' coming.

Waking up the next morning felt weird. Elio felt as if he should be waking up into a new world with a completely changed perspective on everything since his revelation last night, but nothing had changed at all. It was strange that a complete lack of change made things feel weird rather than some grand alteration of his outlook on the world, which would have been expected and maybe even welcomed. Rolling over to check the time, he felt something akin to disappointment, like you do when you wake up on the morning of your birthday and find that you don't _feel_ a year older.

It was 5:41am, he still had just under two hours until school started at 7:30. He wasn't sure if he should be happy that he had some free time, or annoyed that he had to find something to fill that time with. He rolled over again and closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying to force sleep to take him for at least an extra twenty minutes. However, the post-sleep tranquillity was starting to fade, and his brain started throwing thoughts around like it was playing Squash against the inside of his skull. Huffing, he lifted himself to lean back on his elbows. It was still dark outside, the only source of light being the red numbers on his digital alarm clock and a rather annoying blinking blue light coming from from the CD Player, which he had forgotten to turn off properly. Elio tumbled out of his bed, wincing at the how loud everything seemed in the dead silence of the house. He tip-toed across the room and pulled on the chain connected to the floor lamp, filling the room with a warm yellow glow. He couldn't lie to himself, it was something of a mess. He hadn't been paying attention to it last night, but there was a pile of clean laundry on his chair which he had neglected to put away, a secondary pile of dirty laundry next to his wardrobe which he had been too lazy to put in the bathroom hamper, and a number of other things. Papers all over his desk from God knows what, multiple books on his nightstand that he had read but not bothered to put back and speaking of books, his bookcase was looking a little more than dishevelled. Looking around, he wondered if he should bother cleaning up, thinking perhaps he could just do it when he got home from school but then he realised his temper was too short for that. He would come out of the shower in about twenty minutes and be annoyed at the clutter and the unmade bed, cursing his twenty-minutes-younger self for not tidying up, and then he would be in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

It didn't take long, really. Upon putting the clothes away, he made a mental note of the lack of space in his wardrobe, vowing to throw away or donate the clothes he didn't wear. Of course, Elio would forget about that by breakfast but it's the thought that counts. He thought about Mafalda, the housekeeper of the villa back in Italy, and the specific way she made beds while he was shaking out his bedsheets and patting down the wrinkles in the fabric. For a second, he yearned for Italy. He yearned for the way that it felt like an alternate universe away from his normal life where he could remain unplagued by school and social responsibilities and _crushes_. He had allowed his mind to skirt around the specifics of that final point all morning, and he still didn't feel like facing it so finding himself satisfied with the state of his now-clean room, he used the bathroom and then showered. It was a relatively generic bathroom. There was the walk in shower which was not as fancy as it could have been. There was no bathtub. The only bathrooms with tubs were his parents' and the main bathroom. The countertop was marble, supported by grey- almost black- units. The floor and half of each wall was covered in white tiles (the top half of the walls was painted a dull light grey), to match with the countertop. Elio could have asked for them to be changed to actual marble to fully match, but he didn't really care about it all too much. The day he became someone who cared _that_ much about bathroom tiles that no one other than him saw would be the day he lived up to the expectations of him as the child of rich parents: snobbish and materialistic. 

The shower was hot, almost scalding so as to help with the task of keeping unwanted thoughts away. He focused on the sting of his skin, the fresh lavender smell of the soap, the way the fog made his eyelids heavy again. By the time he was done, the bathroom resembled something close to a sauna.

***

Elio was dried and dressed by 6:26, and he could hear the muffled sounds of his parents waking up and heading downstairs. Before joining them, he tried in vain to towel more of the water out of his hair, but no matter how much he tried his curls always retained more water than he could get out. He felt it dripping down his back under his t-shirt while he threw the towel into his laundry hamper and hurried downstairs. 

In the kitchen, Samuel Perlman stood making coffee at the counter, already dressed for the day while his wife sat at the kitchen table in a silk dressing gown with matching pyjama bottoms, gazing blearily at the newspaper and covering a yawn with the back of her hand. Elio entered and leaned over her shoulder to press a kiss to her cheek before moving to stand with his back to the worktop. 

"Good morning, my love," Annella smiled at him. Samuel lifted his head from the task at hand and upon seeing Elio, pulled another cup off of the rack hanging underneath the cupboard. 

"Sleep well?" his father asked. Elio hummed his positive response.

A comfortable silence settled back over the room, as each person continued with their individual task. 

"Toast?" Elio asked his father as he opened the breadbin, who looked over for a second as if weighing his options and then shook his head with a 'thanks'.

"Ma, toast?" 

"No, thankyou," she replied, dragging her eyes away from the article she was reading to meet Elio's eyes with another smile. Elio wasn't sure how she smiled so much this early in the morning. 

He pulled out two slices of bread and slotted them into the toaster, pushing down the lever and accepting a strong but sweet cup of coffee from his father, who knew how he liked it. The toast took a few minutes, and he slathered it with butter while it was still hot before moving to sit at the table with one slice hanging from his mouth and the other on a plate. His father brought over the cup of coffee that he had forgotten before sitting at the long, rectangular table himself while Elio mumbled a 'grazie' through a mouthful of bread. Samuel just raised an eyebrow at him and grinned, accepting a page from the newspaper that Annella had taken out and offered him. Elio, upon acknowledging their comfortable little morning routine, felt a sense of contentment and comfort at the familiarity. 

The floor-length curtains over the doors leading to the garden were still drawn, as well as the ones over the kitchen sink, but through a gap where they had not been closed all the way Elio could see that the sky was still dark, although the stars were now starting to blink out and the lightening shade of blue on the Eastern horizon hinted at dawn. The world felt quiet right now, and so did his mind. At least it did until he _thought_ about how quiet his mind was. At that, everything he had forgotten came rushing back. Chiara. And Chiara and Oliver. And _Oliver._ The math homework due today also came rushing back, but it seemed a little bit insignificant in the shadow of everything else. He was halfway through his second slice of toast while he was thinking this, and out of nowhere the bread turned to glue in his mouth. He chewed and chewed, but his throat felt like it was closing up and his stomach had started to writhe. Another mouthful and he would be nauseous. He gave up on the task, setting down the slice of bread and picking up his coffee to wash the traitorous toast down his throat. The coffee was warm now, rather than piping hot, and he scrunched up his face in surprise before just downing the whole cup.

He stood from the table, desperate to be distracted by something, anything. The sudden flurry of action drew the eyes of his parents, who resumed reading the paper as quickly as they had stopped, finding no cause for alarm in the mask of placidity on Elio's face who was not feeling very placid at all, actually. He left the room, moving towards the front hall, which could be considered a small foyer, if one wished. He glided up the stairs, making a conscious effort not to stomp, and upon arriving in his room he moved towards the conjoined bathroom, planning on washing the acrid taste of lukewarm coffee mixed with over-chewed bread from his mouth. He converted his frustration into energy, and wouldn't have been surprised if he had been left with little nubs for teeth and a bristleless hunk of plastic due to how hard he brushed. Minutes later he emerged into the yellow haze of his bedroom with fresh breath. There was still no sign of light emerging from behind his heavy, crimson curtains. Checking the time he found that it was only 6:49. Time had been dragging for the past hour, and it felt as if each minute was worth ten. He crossed the room in a huff and picked up his bag from next to the hat stand, taking a quick inventory of what was inside and applying his mind to going through his lessons for today. He pretended not to notice the math workbook peeking up at him from the worn interior. He would deal with that homework later, he thought to himself, knowing that he would most likely forget. His math teacher probably wouldn't mind. Elio had a way with most of his teachers which insured that he could wriggle his way out of tight spots and detention slots. 

After picking up a book from his desk (an old, battered French edition of _La Nausée,_ or _Nausea_ ) and throwing it into his bag, he descended the stairs yet again and, finding himself to be quite restless, he paced back and forth at the bottom of the stairs before settling onto the piano stool. Under the stairs there was a small space that could have been turned into a cupboard for coats and shoes and all that jazz, but which instead had been converted into an area in which a piano, along with an expensive-looking but well used velvet ottoman fit quite nicely. There was a light hanging from the low ceiling created by the bottom of the staircase, which was adorned with a bottle-green glass shade, casting an intimate and cosy glow over the area. Elio lifted the fallboard off of the keys, flexed his hands, and began to play the first few notes of Claire de Lune. It was a song that he had been taught to play since he first mastered the piano, and he now knew it well enough to play it almost subconsciously.

In the kitchen, Samuel and Annella lifted their heads as the first few notes began to drift through the dark house, looking towards the open kitchen door and then meeting each other's gaze, smiling softly. Back in the foyer, Elio sighed, feeling restlessness coil in the pit of his stomach. He continued to play despite not even really knowing if he wanted to, despite not even knowing if he wanted to do _anything_. His hands ghosted over the keys while his mind drifted to Oliver. He didn't flinch away from the thought this time. Instead, he focused on it, like one continues to prod at a wound left by a missing tooth in a weak show of masochism. The sight of him in his mind's eye conflicted him. He was so used to seeing his face and wanting to smack it, so the urge to kiss it instead came as a surprise. He still annoyed Elio. He still made Elio want to curse him out and call him every name under the sun just because he existed, and just because he was that _hot_ and yet he hadn't even batted an eyelid at the hoards of students trying to get into his heart, mind and pants. Elio wanted so badly for him to start making his way through the cheerleading squad, breaking hearts with no mercy just so he could be justified in his hatred and be rid of his attraction. The thought of seeing him in school today made Elio sick. Or was that just nervous anticipation? He had never felt so out of touch with his own mind, despite being so unconsciously out of touch with it yesterday that he didn't even know he wanted Oliver. And in all this speculation, in all this overthinking, the circumstances hadn't changed. Oliver was still annoying and had no idea about what Elio felt for him, Chiara was still on a mission to win over Oliver's heart, and Elio was the only one that had changed.

He got to the end of Claire de Lune and checked his watch. It was 7:08 now, twenty-two minutes to get to school. It would only take him fifteen if he walked fast. He arched his spine, threw his head back, and stretched his arms out, hearing his joints crack. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he padded over to the kitchen and walked past his parents to the narrow door leading to the laundry room. He found a clean black sweatshirt and pulled it on over his polo shirt, adjusting the collar and yanking it down over the waistband of his jeans. It was marginally too big- the sleeves came to about the knuckle of his thumb and it was overall a bit baggy- but he couldn't find it within himself to care. Putting his bag back on his back, he walked back through the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water and a banana, twisting himself to put them in his backpack on his way out.

"Bye!" he exclaimed, getting to the kitchen door when his mother held her hand out to him in a silent beckoning. He took it and moved in to kiss her cheek, a gesture which she returned, ruffling his hair. His father seemed amused by the scene, and his eyes twinkled as he grinned at his wife and son feeling,for a second, nothing but serenity.

"Are you taking lunch?" Annella asked, freeing him from he embrace. He stood upright and tried to pat his hair back down. He contemplated it for a minute and then decided against it after checking his watch.

"No, I'll buy food from the cafeteria if I'm hungry. I have money left over from the other day,"

"Hm, okay,"

He turned as the conversation came to an end.

"Ciao!" she shouted as he got to the stairs and pulled on his winter coat from the coat rack.

"Ciao Ma, Papa!" he replied, opening the door. He heard a 'Bye!' shouted from the latter before stepping out into the wintry morning and closing the door behind him. The sky was steadily lightening by then, and he could tell it was going to be one of the clear, cold, blue mornings that he liked best. The pavement glittered with a sheen of ice, not slick but more dangerous than usual as ice permeated each tiny gap and crack in the concrete. His breath came in plumes of fog, illuminated by the first few shards of light bursting out from the horizon. He settled into a brisk pace, rubbing his hands together and pulling his coat tighter around himself to fend off the biting cold. 

***

Elio arrived at school at 7:22. It had taken him twelve minutes, thanks to the below freezing temperatures spurring him on. He went straight to his locker, dodging annoyingly large groups of Freshmen and the occasional stressed out Senior on a mission. Arriving at his locker, he unlocked it, wrenched it open and unceremoniously dumped his coat into it, choosing to keep his bag with him. He saw Marzia down the hallway at her locker and slammed his own one shut to make sure it remained closed. The lockers at this school were getting tired, and sometimes they needed putting in their place. He made his way down to Marzia who smiled at him when he arrived and then yawned.

"Where's Chiara?" He asked. The two of them could always be found together.

"She's-" Marzia's gaze flitted to somewhere behind Elio, and he turned, meeting Chiara whose face was distorted in a wide grin.

"Hey!" She exclaimed, still grinning. Elio furrowed his brow at the unadulterated joy plain to see on her face.

"What?" He said, although he already had his suspicions on the cause of this.

The smile left Chiara's face, but it still remained in her eyes as she said "Hello to you too," clearly offended by his lack of civilities.

"Sorry. Morning, why are you so happy?" he tried again. She huffed at his manner and gave in, smiling again while looking over her shoulder. Elio followed her gaze and his suspicions were confirmed. There Oliver stood, about six meters away partially obscured by swathes of people making their way to their homerooms before the bell. He was chatting animatedly to someone out of sight, wearing a dark V-neck sweater that just made his hair seem even more vexingly golden. Elio's heart leapt at the sight, and then sank and shrivelled.

"Oh, come on Chiara. You know he's not worth it," he implored as she turned her head back to face them, glaring at Elio.

"I'm not taking opinions from someone who's prejudiced. You've had it out for him from day one just because he's cute,"

"He's not cute," Elio lied. "He's going to use his looks to get with as many people as possible with no concern for their feelings. With no concern for _your_ feelings. It's what they all do,"

"See, you contradict yourself, Elio," she started in an accusatory tone. "One minute you say he's not cute and the next you say he's good-looking enough to break all of our hearts! Which is it to be? You can admit that you think he's attractive, it doesn't mean anything. You'd have to be stupid to deny it,"

A small, hysterical laugh that he could not supress escaped him at that because it _did_ mean something. Chiara, thankfully not understanding what was so funny, continued.

"And don't you think that if he was going to start making the rounds, he would have done it already? He obviously knows that people like him so he would've stated making moves by now, idiot,"

She had attacked the weak spot in his argument. In fact, his whole argument was a weak spot. He had no reason to hate Oliver so much, now that he had gotten to the root of the problem, but he kept the act up as a suit of armour anyway. He held his palms up to Chiara, surrendering. Just then, the bell rang, and people started scurrying to their classrooms. Marzia turned left with a wave and a smile, leaving Chiara and Elio to turn right to get to their shared homeroom. They walked past Oliver, who was struggling to get his locker to stay closed. He turned as he heard their footsteps, being some of the last people left in the corridors. At the sight of Chiara, he raised his hand to wave and smiled brightly, and then his gaze shifted to the right and focused on Elio, who raised one eyebrow and refused to look away. Oliver's mouth twitched at that. Elio realised he shouldn't be paying so much attention to what Oliver's mouth was doing. Still, he held his gaze and crossed his arms like a petty child, having to turn his head as they continued to pass him by, as if he was daring Oliver to be the first one to give. This in itself wasn't unusual. Even before last night, Elio would be playing a constant game of Dare: daring Oliver to take the last word in a heated discussion, daring Oliver to tackle him in PE. He never did. He always conceded first. It made Elio hate him and like him even more.

As Elio knew he would, Oliver looked away first, going back to pushing against the door of his locker to force it to stay closed. Elio took one last glance back at him before looking away and shouting "Punch it."

Just as Chiara and Elio crossed the threshold of their classroom, there was an almighty bang. He took his advice after all.

***

Homeroom was always a dull affair. Elio sat next to some guy named Ryan who apparently completely disappeared outside of homeroom. He had never seen him in the cafeteria, never seen him in any lessons, he could literally have been someone infiltrating the school for that specific half hour in the morning and no one would be any the wiser. But hey, he was funny sometimes. Elio slouched into his chair just as the second bell rang, signalling that all students should now be in class. Chiara was on the opposite side of the room, so there was no way that Elio could ask her what she had been speaking to Oliver about before he had arrived not ten minutes earlier. 

"How's it going, Ryan?" Elio asked, kicking his bag underneath the desk and then remembering the banana and instantly regretting it. 

"Shit," Ryan replied, not even turning to look at him as he frantically scribbled down some answers on a sheet of paper, most likely last-minute homework.

Elio looked over and nodded. "I agree,"

"How are you at biology?" sighed Ryan, leaning back in his chair and giving up. Elio held out his hand for the sheet and filled in the few Punnett squares predicting the hereditary traits of offspring. He handed it back over to Ryan, who mumbled a thanks and folded the paper back up, tucking it into his bag. 

"At least it's Friday," Elio mumbled. 

"It's gonna be a long day," Ryan predicted, and Elio hummed in agreement. He answered his name in roll-call and sat through any announcements, not even trying to look like he was listening. There were fifteen minutes of homeroom left when their teacher gave up all authority, looking as if she would rather be anywhere else than at work right now. Elio felt bad for a second, and then he scooped up his bag, leaving Ryan and creeping over to the empty seat at the back of the classroom behind Chiara, who looked very surprised at her visitor. 

"What are you doing?" she asked, furrowing her brows. 

"I was bored. Aren't you happy to see me?" She didn't reply, just kicked his ankle lightly.

"So," he started, feigning indifference, "What did you and _Oliver_ speak about today?" He questioned, adding a sarcastic lilt to the name.

"Why do you care? You hate him."

"I told you, I'm bored,"

"Fine. We spoke about the snow forecast for tonight, and what we're doing in gym class later. Just normal stuff,"

He turned his nose up at the mediocre selection of topics. "Look at that, I'm still bored," he teased, earning a glare and a harsh flick on the knuckles from Chiara.

"Well stop trying to gossip then! Go away, horrible boy," she jibed, her accent becoming more prominent on the last few words.

He grinned, glad that he could be so annoying when he wanted to. "Still can't believe you like him,"

"I can't believe I like _you_. He is much more tolerable. Tu es trop énervant,"

"Non, pas moi?" he gasped in mock surprise. 

She rolled her eyes at him and turned around, continuing to read the textbook that she had been scanning when he came over. _If it was me_ , he thought, _I wouldn't have talked about the weather_. _I would have -_ but it wasn't him. It was Chiara, pursuing a relationship that was accessible to her. And right for her. It was one of his best friends. He wouldn't allow himself to go down that path of jealousy and betrayal. He would stick to arguing with Oliver, debating with him in every possible class and glaring at him in all others. He would keep up the charade, and if he slipped, he would apply himself to renewing his efforts with twice as much vivacity. If not for himself then for Chiara at least. He didn't even like Oliver, he just thought he was attractive, or so he told himself.

The bell rang at 8am, give or take, as it is a universally acknowledged fact that school bells can never ring at the exact time they are actually meant to- they are always either early or late. Elio and Chiara left with the rest of the class, making their way to the English department of the school. 

"See you in History," Elio said as Chiara walked into her English class.

"You had better hope you don't," she replied, still annoyed with him but there was no actual heat behind her threat. She grinned wickedly before looking away to take her seat. Elio continued down the corridor to his own English class, arriving at the same time as his teacher who looked flustered. He took his seat in the back corner of the room, resting his head on his hand and staring out of the window to the striped orange running track looping around a circle of verdant grass. The kerfuffle of students settling down lasted for a few minutes until everybody had settled, and they were each told to pull out their required reading book, _The Scarlet Letter,_ which Elio was sure he would have liked if he wasn't forced to overanalyse ever single aspect of it. He was reaching into his bag when Oliver barrelled into the room, apologising profusely for being late, if only by a few minutes. He was excused, and he wasted no time getting to his seat- one in front and to the left of Elio- and pulling out his book. Elio watched him the entire time, wondering what his excuse for being late was. He wouldn't ask, of course. They had an unspoken no-conversation-other-than-class-debates-and-borederline-verbal-abuse agreement when it came to communication. 

It was a boring hour. The time that they didn't spend reading they spent answering (in painstaking detail) the questions written on the board. Their teacher did not appear to be in a talkative mood today, therefore not allowing their class to be talkative, which was a shame as Elio had a few things that he wanted to aggravate Oliver with. 

The rest of the lessons up until lunch that day continued in the same manner. Boring, quiet, nothing really noteworthy. Ryan had been right in Homeroom: it was going to be a long day.

Lunchtime rolled around, freeing students from the monotony of required education if only for half an hour. Elio entered the cafeteria alone. He had left his friends (who were enraptured in trivial conversation and walking far too slowly for his liking) in the corridors in favour of sitting alone and reading, maybe getting something to eat. There was a table in one of the darker corners left empty, as most people gravitated towards the windows. It was one of the few old rectangular tables that had been pushed to the edges of the cafeteria when the school purchased newer round tables. The only valid reason he could come up with for table discrimination was that perhaps the round tables offered a more inclusive experience for groups of friends, as everyone could see each other's face? In that case, rectangular tables suited him just fine. 

He was left alone for barely three minutes before he was approached by Chiara and Marzia, who had their lunch and were now looking for a place to eat it. Elio placed his book face-down on the table when Chiara tried to engage him in conversation. He looked at her incredulously, gesturing at his book. 

Marzia looked down at the book, and upon seeing that the author was none other than Jean-Paul Sartre, she picked out arguably his most famous quote. 

"Hell is other people," she muttered.

"And yet, here you both are," he smirked. He knew that wasn't actually what Sartre had intended the phrase to mean, but the opportunity was just too good to pass up. 

"Don't be prickly," Marzia chided, "You'll end up with no friends at all," 

"I was only joking," he conceded. Well, he was mostly joking. He _was_ looking forward to being uninterrupted for the thirty minutes that he had. At that moment, someone called out to Chiara from a group of people who Elio loosely considered friends, or at least acquaintances. They had pushed two tables together and beckoned for them to join them. 

Chiara picked her lunch tray back up and moved to join them, offering a goodbye over her shoulder as if she was already bored of Elio's bad mood. Marzia waited for a second.

"Are you coming?" 

"Hell," was all he said. She laughed and kicked his foot which was poking out from underneath the table before walking away. He watched her go before picking his book back up again. 

He was interrupted again, about five minutes later, and the sight of his interruption set his heart beating double time. Oliver stood before him in all his glory with a handful of papers, a book, and a sandwich. Elio was so surprised that before Oliver could say anything he felt the need to push him away.

"I'm busy. I'll only argue with you in lessons," Elio said, trying his hardest to glare at Oliver, who didn't even flinch.

"I don't want to speak to you. It's freezing outside," Oliver said, glancing back at the series of glass doors across the room, "so everyone's sitting inside today. This is the only empty table left." Oliver made a move to sit down on the seat farthest from Elio. 

"Why aren't you sitting with your friends?" Elio inquired, instantly regretting asking in case it seemed like he cared too much, which he did.

"They're too loud and annoying and I'm trying to get this work done," Oliver answered, holding up one of the sheets of paper. Elio hummed and looked down at his book, unable to focus on the words while Oliver sat at the same table as him. A second later, Oliver spoke up again. 

"Hell is other people?" Oliver said, and it came out as more of a question than a statement. Elio held back a sigh. He wondered how many other people would try to garner respect by blurting out that well-known phrase when they saw his choice of book today. Oliver didn't seem to be looking for approval of his knowledge though, due to his inquiring tone.

"Quite," Elio answered sharply, and then immediately tried to find something to make it sound less rude. "He didn't mean it in the way most people assume, you know,"

"I know," Oliver stated, staring directly into Elio's eyes. He refused to look away, but he was too surprised by the answer to say anything back. For the first time possibly ever, Elio dropped his gaze first, looking back down at his book. He saw Oliver look away out of the corner of his eye, and he spent a few minutes trying to read what was on the page before him. He gave up eventually, and reached down into his bag to find that banana. Upon pulling it out of his bag, he found that it was in a pitiful state. It was covered in bruises, battle scarred from being jostled around amongst Elio's other possessions all day. He saw Oliver stand up in his peripheral vision, about to go and buy a bottle of water or whatever. In a weird spur of the moment act of bravery, perhaps, Elio called out to him.

"Oi, Oliver! Throw this away, will you?" He asked, already lobbing the mostly-brown fruit at the poor, unsuspecting boy. He turned his nose up at it in disgust as he caught it, dangling it between his thumb and forefinger. "Please?" Elio added as an afterthought. Oliver looked rightfully bewildered, glancing at his pile of papers and half eaten sandwich.

"Watch those for me," he said, nodding towards his stuff. Elio nodded. Oliver then turned and left, going to do whatever he was doing before Elio accosted him and throwing away the banana on his way. Elio had literally only thrown a piece of fruit at him and his heart was racing. He almost hated himself for how pleased he was with their civil conversation. When Oliver returned, Elio left to get food, pleased with the way Oliver looked up at him and then at his belongings in a silent agreement to look after them. Elio barely registered what food he had until he sat back down minutes later, finding himself in possession of a slice of pizza. He could make do with that.

The rest of their lunch was a quiet affair. They didn't say anything to each other, they didn't even look at each other. Well, that was a lie. Elio had been side-eyeing Oliver every minute or so, unable to focus on his book. Saying that 'his proximity was intoxicating' was unjustifiable, He was on the opposite side of the table, two seats down and he had payed no attention to Elio at all. _How rude,_ he thought. _I welcome you to_ my _table, and you don't spend the entire time engaging me in_ _a_ _thrilling conversation._ They were both smart enough for an intellectual conversation, and they each knew that the other was smart enough. Well Elio sure as Hell wasn't going to be the first one to speak. 

As it turns out, the bell was the first one to speak. Elio hadn't realised how much time had passed. They were up and gone within seconds, offering a curt nod as a goodbye. Elio thought that a hug would have suited him better. Maybe a kiss. Maybe a good smack, if he carried on thinking like that. Within minutes of him leaving their table, Elio had resolved to hate him again. 

***

This resolve that Elio had built up floundered in the face of adversary, because of course it wouldn't be enough for the universe to just force them onto a table together the day after Elio had discovered that he was attracted to the boy he was so determined to hate. No, the universe derived pleasure from cruel tricks and games. 

It was the last lesson of the day, and Elio's math teacher was late. This was another class that he didn't share with anyone that he particularly desired to speak to. Well, Oliver was in this class but Elio wasn't going to speak to him. He hadn't planned on it, anyway. He was leaning against the wall outside of the classroom at the back of the rowdy line of students that had accumulated. It had been five minutes since they should have been in lesson, but so far their teacher was a no show and Elio was grateful for the extra time he had to finish the math homework due in for today. It had been going well until he was joined by a certain very attractive boy. Elio refused to look up. He was more angry than pleased this time. Wasn't it enough to push his limits once a day? Did Oliver really decide that the only time he would decide to make an effort to speak to him was the _day_ _after_ Elio realised he wanted much more than to just speak to him? Why couldn't they just stick to mutually ignoring each other's existence?

"Math homework?" asked the deep, smooth voice. Elio simultaneously wanted to hear it again and punch him in the throat so he would shut up. God, the contradiction would be the end of him.

"Yep. Due in for today,"

"Do you actually like it?" Oliver asked. Elio furrowed his brow at the question. Why was he asking? Why did he care? He was immediately sceptical, and was tempted to voice these questions but he decided to stick to civility.

"No, I hate it. I would find it easier if it had more history or philosophy or just _anything_ , but unless you're studying the great mathematicians behind all of it and their history, there's nothing to make it human. Nothing to make it beautiful." For a second he felt so stupid that he replied to such a simple question with _that,_ an insight to the workings of his mind no matter how small. He hated that he'd said it to Oliver, for whom he'd had nothing but a harsh word for so far. Oliver, however, didn't look like he'd heard something stupid. He paused for a few seconds, thinking it through, and then replied with: "That's not true."

"What's not true?"

"There's beauty in math. It can be found in everything beautiful. It's the _foundation_ of everything beautiful. It's human because it's used by humans every single day. And when you get into it, the flow of it can be really quite beautiful," He mused. 

Elio was silenced. He hadn't expected a thought of that kind to pass such beautiful lips. Beautiful people were meant to be stupid. Beautiful people, such as Oliver, were meant to have simple, undeveloped thoughts that bounced around their heads like screensavers, because they didn't have to be smart to be likeable. He didn't expect Oliver to have any concept of beauty past the occasional girl that everyone was thirsting over, who he would call sexy or hot, but never beautiful. Elio's prejudices against those that were easy on the eyes had blindsided him, and he had been standing looking dumbstruck for too long before he could find some snarky comment to cover up just how taken aback he was. 

"Oh, don't tell me I've invoked the wrath of a math geek," he sniggered, hating how stupid it sounded in the face of a previously honest and interesting conversation. Oliver's tone changed with the flow of their conversation, although not for the worst.

"Oh, God no. I hate math. I'm not bad at it I just can't stand it. It's boring."

Elio had misjudged him again. By now he was so thrown off that he had to wait for a second to recover. He had expected Oliver to get defensive of the subject, or of himself at least but he had done the opposite. Elio realised that maybe he should stop guessing what he was going to say before he had actually said it. He was turning out to be quite unpredictable. In the silence, Elio allowed himself to take in the sight of Oliver that he had tried to ignore so far. He was tall, about a head taller than Elio, with wide shoulders, and despite it being freezing outside and barely tolerable inside, he was emitting enough heat that Elio wanted to wrap himself in his arms and stay there until spring, at the very least. He was feeling positively dwarfed by Oliver's imposing size, and yet he couldn't bring himself to dislike it. He swallowed sharply, looking at his feet, looking at the floor, the wall, anything but Oliver. 

"Um, yeah. Me too," he replied, remembering Oliver's opinion on math. He looked up at his face again and found him smiling. He didn't know what he was smiling at, but Elio translated it directly into condescension and immediately started to regret everything he'd said in the past few minutes. He turned away from Oliver, leaning back against the wall and feeling self conscious. He didn't want to start conversations that ended up with him being looked down upon or belittled just because he was too surprised to reply with his usual sharp wit. He hadn't even started the conversation anyway. Oliver was still there and Elio was wishing that he would just disappear, rather than stand there and mock him. It took a few seconds before Elio realised that actually, Oliver had no reason to mentally mock him or belittle him, which meant he had either terribly misread Oliver and his smile _again_ and he was completely overthinking everything, or Oliver was actually just a cruel bastard and was making fun of him right now in his head. He wasn't sure which was worse.

A moment later the silence was interrupted. "Sorry, did I say something wrong?" Oliver asked, and there wasn't even a hint of mockery in tone. So Elio was completely overthinking everything then. He would get into that later. For now, he was busy trying to think of something to say.

"Oh, er, no. No, why would you think that?" He asked, seeing an opportunity to see what Oliver thought of him.

"Well, you went all quiet again and I thought I offended you or something. I'm not used to speaking to you outside of lessons, and when we speak in lessons it's always a debate. You make some good points, and I thought you'd be interesting to speak to." Elio could feel the blush creeping up his cheeks, and Oliver looked the slightest bit pink as well, although Elio couldn't imagine why. This was more than he'd bargained for. He didn't even have it in him to make a joke to make it less awkward. He could have said that his points were great, not merely good, but right now he wanted nothing more than to be small, and to listen to Oliver speak about anything. 

"Sorry," Elio said, and then he quickly realised that he would have to say something more than just 'sorry' if he wanted to seem less stupid than he was acting. "You didn't offend me, I was just thinking," 

"Oh?" The request for more information was clear. Elio wasn't sure what he would've said if their math teacher hadn't showed up right then, unlocking the classroom door and ushering everyone in. Elio turned to Oliver, muttered yet another 'sorry' in response to their conversation being disrupted, and rushed through the classroom door. He took his seat without looking at Oliver; his mind was full of him already. As he slumped down into his chair he did what one does in a math class - zone out. His mind slipped back to how he had overthought every single thing he had said in that short conversation. He wasn't in the habit of picking apart everything that an attractive person says or does to him. In Elio's experience, they rarely have anything important to say, but Oliver had said things of substance, things with meaning. His brain didn't consist of two neurons batting an electrical impulse back and forth like it was table tennis, contrary to popular belief. Well, contrary to Elio's belief. The armour that Elio had put up, the weak spots in his argument as to why he hated Oliver, they had all been decimated. He was smart-not just academically- he could generate an original thought. He was kind; he worried when he thought he had offended Elio. As for funny, there was no definitive proof but he was sure that someone as smart as Oliver could come up with a witty joke. Every defence mechanism was failing. For months Elio had been telling himself that he didn't like Oliver because he was just pretty with no other interesting qualities, but now? He didn't like Oliver _just_ because he was pretty, there was _more_ to him. He was everything that Elio said he wasn't. He started to feel the hate slip away, and now he could just feel the admiration. He was overpowered by the desire to have a good, long conversation with him about something that really mattered, and then another about something that didn't matter at all, but was still rather funny. There were other desires too, to hold and to be held, to kiss and to be kissed. He pushed them down. Maybe he could settle for friends? Who was he kidding? Friends wasn't enough. It would have to be all or nothing, and seeing as Chiara had already expressed interest in Oliver, and Elio _c_ _ouldn't_ express interest in fear of being outed, it would have to be nothing. 

When they accidentally met on their way out of class, Oliver's warm farewell smile made the prospect of 'nothing' seem unbearable.

***

Elio was feeling considerably distracted on his way out of school. It had been revelation after revelation recently. Last night, finding out that although in some ways he couldn't stand Oliver, he was attracted to him. And then today, finding that everything he disliked about Oliver was a figment of his imagination; he was smart, he was kind, he was sure to be funny if Elio stuck around long enough to find out. And then the third revelation that came rapidly after the second - he _likes_ Oliver, really likes him. Perhaps he has done unconsciously for weeks. He likes his wit and intelligence, he likes his ability to contribute a meaningful point to a conversation, he likes the way his face glows with warmth when he smiles. It's no longer just a schoolboy crush built on lust alone. It's a yearning for someone to look at Elio and finally _see_ him and understand him and want him, jagged edges and dark moods and all. This confounding development in Elio's feelings towards Oliver was unsettling, to say the least. Sure, he had always wanted that, but he had never had someone that he wanted it from. It had always been a nameless, shapeless person years into his future that he didn't bother thinking too much about, because the possibility that he would never find that person made his heart ache. 

Now there was Oliver, and it was worse than a dull ache because he could never have him. He wasn't even gay, for Christ's sake! It felt like a big joke. The one person that he wanted to really see him was just within reach, but he could never have him. Elio was letting his feet guide him home when Marzia called out to him. He turned and waited for her, watching her speed up to reach him. 

"Hi," she said, smiling up at him as they started to walk.

"Hi," he replied, and then because he was still a bit out of it from his previous train of thought: "Good day?"

"Eh, it wasn't bad," she said, and Elio was wondering if she was going to delve into a whole recount of her day, praying to God that she didn't because his attention span was much too short right now. "How about you?"

He huffed out a laugh, knowing instantly that he would lie and pretend that his world hadn't been turned upside down today. She looked up at him again when he laughed, but didn't say anything about it.

"Wasn't bad for me either. Just another day at school, I guess,"

She didn't say anything in reply, just hummed and let the rhythm of their footsteps fill the silence. Without meaning to, Elio thought about Oliver again, and his heart clenched painfully. He could foresee this being something that he would have to let fester. He couldn't do anything about it, so he'd have to let it burn out. He crossed his arms over his chest at that thought, lest the bitter ache of disappointment should strike him again. He had been staring at the pavement as they walked, letting the ever-changing pattern of it make him dizzy. 

"Are you okay?" Marzia asked, just as she did when they walked home the night before. 

"Yeah, fine. Just cold"

"Right." She said as if she didn't quite believe him. "Elio I need to speak to you about something,"

Elio's stomach dropped. It was never good news when someone said that. "Oh. Alright, I'm listening,"

"Well," she started, unsure of how to continue without being too brusque, "Do you remember Stephen?"

" _Do I remember Stephen?_ I saw him like half an hour ago in math class, Marzia, of course I remember him," he joked, worried about where the conversation was going.

"Yeah, yeah I know but... well-" she stammered, and then decided that she would just get the conversation over with, "-you remember that he likes me, yes?"

"Yeah, why?" He was unfazed by this, it was common knowledge. 

"Well, he asked me on a date," she looked at him, testing the waters. _Oh._ He had been too busy thinking about Oliver to think about Marzia at all, and the unspoken thing between them.

"Okay. What did you say?"

"I told him that I would have to think about it, talk to someone first,"

"Oh. Chiara?" he said, genuinely confused. The next second, he was kicking himself as he realised what she had meant. " _Oh._ Me," he finally met Marzia's eyes and he could have sworn she looked a bit hurt by his cluelessness. "Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind today, I didn't mean to be so stupid,"

"No, no it's fine,"

"So, what did you want to talk about?" 

She rolled her eyes at that, confounded by his idiocy. "Elio, what are we?" she asked, ripping off the proverbial bandaid. He didn't act stupid this time, he was too busy trying to think of something, anything at all. His mind had gone completely blank because he didn't know, despite the thought he had put into it. He didn't have any innate desire to be with her. She didn't seem like she wanted it all that badly either, and that left them with quite the conundrum. It felt like something that they owed to each other by now, after all these years of friendship. It also seemed like something that they owed to everyone around them, who had seen this coming sooner or later. Neither of them were adverse to the idea, but their problem was that they were teenagers. They didn't want a relationship born of comfort and complacency. They wanted passion, and need and something that shocked the system. Being with each other would be easy, but it would also be boring because they had spent so long being content with friendship without needing anything more. He couldn't help but think of Oliver, and how he felt about him. And then he thought about how he couldn't have him. He was angry all of a sudden, frustrated with how his life had gone from relatively simple to an absolute shitstorm in the space of 24 hours. If he could have Marzia, but he couldn't have Oliver, then the choice was simple wasn't it? If he was with Marzia, he wouldn't have to worry about anyone else. He wouldn't want someone to love him, and to kiss him because he would have her. 

"I don't know, Marzia," he sighed, some of his frustration bleeding into his voice. "What do you want? Who do you want?" he asked, begging for her answer to make it easier for him to make his decision. He realised that he must seem crazy to Marzia. He had gone from being completely calm and normal to being exasperated in only a few short minutes, and she couldn't read his mind to see what had caused it. They were in a narrow alleyway now, which would take them onto a quiet street. Marzia stopped walking so she could look at him. 

"I want someone who needs me. Someone who will kiss me and hold me and tell me that they can't bear to be without me. I know it sounds stupid because we're so young, but we've never really been young, you and me. We have- what do they call it?- old souls. Yes. I just want something real," she pleaded, not to him in particular ,but to the world. To fate.

It was also what Elio had wanted. He hadn't wanted it from her, in particular. In fact, if she had said this to him this time yesterday he wouldn't have had anyone in specific in mind when he thought about how he wanted the same, but now all he could think of was Oliver. Oliver, who was completely out of reach. But that was okay. He could settle. He could have those things with Marzia. He could forget all about Oliver.

"So kiss _me_ then," he was barely thinking. "I'll hold you if that's what you want," He just wanted her to make the decision for him, because he was weak and a coward. So she did make the decision.

"Fuck off," she laughed, and continued walking. He was still rooted to the spot, completely shocked by her reply. He took a few quick steps to catch up with her and then stood in front of her, cutting her off.

"What?"

She laughed again. "Elio, you don't need me," she saw that he was about to deny it, and quickly moved to correct herself, "Maybe as a friend, but that's all. And that's okay. We've been friends for a long time, and loving you would be so easy but it wouldn't be right. We were made to be good friends, nothing else. I wouldn't us want to ruin what we have right now by forcing ourselves into something that just doesn't fit. Neither of us want it enough to justify it,"

He was gobsmacked, because she had taken every incoherent thought in his head and formed them into words and said exactly what he felt to be true. He felt the relief wash over him that she had seen through his lunacy. The disgust he felt for himself settled in soon after. He had been prepared to throw himself into this relationship just to take his mind off of the unattainable Oliver. He had been willing to hurt Marzia, to lie to her and to himself to pretend that he didn't want something that he couldn't have, and the fact that he had been so ready to do all of that made him sick. 

"Yeah. God you're right. I'm sorry Marzia. I'm so sorry," he said, suddenly feeling as if he wasn't worthy of her forgiveness seeing as he was about to use her to get over something that he'd never even had. He hated himself for it.

"It's fine, really. You're confused, I'm confused. That's another reason why it would be a bad idea. Maybe one day we'll want it but as of right now, we'll just let it be,"

"You're so much smarter than me. You're so much smarter than all of us. God, I'm such an idiot," he mumbled, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands and muffling his words.

"Only on Fridays," she joked, lightening up the conversation. 

"Where's Chiara, anyway?" he asked, steering the conversation to steadier ground. He would wait until later to let the disappointment and hate he felt for himself sink in. 

"Oh, she said she was staying to catch up with some homework. I reckon it's just so she can 'accidentally' bump into Oliver. He's finishing a presentation for one of his classes or something," she said, glancing at him when she said his name. He bit his lip hard enough for it to hurt, and then nodded, hoping that he wouldn't have to say anything more. 

They walked in silence until they emerged from the alleyway and Marzia turned right instead of left.

"Where are you going?" he said, almost shouted as she continued to walk towards the dead end of the road.

"Come with me," she insisted.

"I told my parents that I would be back on time today,"

"Then call them,"

He pulled out his phone as he jogged to catch up with her, dialling the house phone. His father picked up on the third ring. He told him that he was going on a walk with Marzia, and that he probably wouldn't be out for too long. Samuel told Annella, and Elio said his farewells, hanging up the phone, shoving it into the pocket of his jeans.

"Where are we going?" he asked, finally catching up.

"You'll see,"

The road was a row of semi-detached houses on either side, with small front gardens and garages. The sidewalk circled around at the end, but instead of a semi circle of houses there was the beginning of the woods. They headed in, following the dirt path for a few minutes and then turning off on a narrower, less noticeable path that lead to a firepit with a perimeter of thick logs, sturdy enough for sitting on. 

"What are we doing here?" Elio asked, sitting sideways on one of the logs and drawing his knees up to his chest. Marzia mirrored him on the opposite end of the same log, resting her chin on her hands where they cupped the top of her knees. She ignored his question for a few seconds before asking her own.

"Seeing as we've already talked about something important today, can I ask you a question?"

He narrowed his eyes, having no idea where this was going. "Yeah. Okay then," he agreed, not seeing how this could be worse than what they had just spoken about. He still felt raw but somehow lighter from speaking about something that had been on his mind for months. He was glad that he and Marzia were on the same page now, with everything out in the open.

"Promise you won't get mad at me. Whether I'm right or wrong, just promise you won't be angry," she pleaded, and he didn't see how anything he had to say could make him angry.

"Promise. Now ask away,"

"Alright. Do you, uh... well," she looked at the floor beside the log, unsure of exactly how to broach the subject. 

"Come on! You're making me nervous," Elio declared.

"Sorry, sorry. Well fine then. Do you like Oliver? I mean _like_ like him?"

Elio choked on his own spit, coughing and spluttering. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. 

"Why would you think I like him? I can't stand the boy and you know it!" His cheeks were burning now and he was thinking of every way possible to plausibly deny it while also trying to figure out how Marzia had known.

"That's the problem! You make such a show out of hating him that I can't help but think that you're trying to cover something up!"

Elio was horrified and he was sure it was showing on his face. His cheeks and ears were burning and he was stuttering, trying to find an excuse for his behaviour.

"I- well I- maybe I actually just hate him that much!"

"Do you?"

He hesitated for too long and he knew then that she was going to pry her way through the cracks in his façade. 

"Elio, I'm not judging you. I just want to know. We've known each other for ten years now, you can trust me,"

He was conflicted. He could deny it and they probably wouldn't speak about it again, or he could admit it and if she was true to her word and didn't judge him, he would finally have someone to confide in. 

"I-I don't know" he sighed, giving in and burying his head in his hands.

"What do you mean you don't know? You either like him or you don't,"

"Alright, fine. Yes, I like him,"

She was quiet while Elio came to grips with the consequences of his confession. It was out now. _He_ was out now. There was no going back. His stomach was roiling and if he didn't know any better he would have thought that he was excited. His hands were shaking. In fact, his whole body was shaking. Heaving out a tremulous breath, he looked up to meet Marzia's eyes. She didn't look angry or surprised. He could detect a hint of concern, but that was it really.

"So you're... gay?" she asked tentatively.

"Uh, no. I don't think so at least. I'm pretty sure I like girls too, so bi, I guess" he admitted, trying his hardest to steady his voice.

"Okay. Well-" she was about to continue when Elio cut her off.

"Wait, wait- how did you know about Oliver? How long have you known? _Do other people know?_ " God, if other people knew he was in big trouble.

"I told you, the way you hate him so much is overkill. Every time there's an opportunity to speak about him-sometimes even when there's not- you'll be the first to say something about how he's stupid or how he's going to be a player or I don't know, whatever else you like to insult him with. Honestly, I was more surprised at Chiara for liking him than I was at you. I've had my suspicions for a few months now, not long after he joined. And no, I don't think that anyone else knows. Chiara certainly doesn't. If you want to keep it a secret though you'll have to stop trying to prove that you hate him so much. If you really hated him you wouldn't speak about him as often,"

"God , you've known that I like him for longer than I have. See, you're too smart," he said, because it was true. Marzia was so perceptive, and she had a quiet intellect that she used to interpret the world around her, normally getting it right. He wished he was like her. Maybe then he would've seen this mess before he got himself into it.

She didn't say anything to that, and they were quiet for a while. 

"Shit, Marzia. What am I gonna do? This is such a mess. I can't like boys in a small town. They'll hunt me down with pitchforks." He hadn't actually thought about that so far, but now as he was confronted with someone else knowing his secret he realised that a lot of people wouldn't be as accepting. 

"I don't think it would be too bad. Sure there'd be a few people. There always are. But most people are just trying to get on with life and mind their own business. You don't have to come out anyway. This can stay between us if you want it to. Oh, unless you're going to tell Oliver that you like him,"

Elio scoffed at that. "I just called you smart, don't make me regret it. I can't tell him. Chiara already has dibs. That sounds bad. He's not an object of course, but she said she liked him first. That doesn't even matter though! He's so straight that it hurts,"

"You can't assume that. People think that you're straight and you're not. He could be bi too,"

"Marzia, look at him. He radiates straight energy," he said, not even knowing what he meant by that. He wasn't really your everyday bro. "And even if he's not _completely_ straight, the point about Chiara still stands. And he thinks that I hate him. He must hate me by now." Oliver didn't seem like he had hated him earlier though. He dismissed that thought. It was best not to get his hopes up.

"I still don't think we should assume that he's straight. I was right about you, wasn't I?"

"I don't want to think about what would happen if he liked boys," Elio sighed. "I don't want any of this," out of nowhere, he could feel his throat tightening up and his eyes watering. "I just want to go through highschool without any trouble. I want to like someone who likes me back and I don't want to live with the constant fear that my entire town will hate me for who I love," his voice broke on the last word but he didn't allow the tears that pooled in his eyes to fall. "I want it to be easy again. Fuck, I wish we liked each other like everyone wants us to, Marzia,"

Her eyebrows were drawn up in sympathy and her own eyes were glittering with tears. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said anything,"

"No, I'm glad you did. Thankyou. I feel better that at least someone knows. And I'm glad that it's you." Marzia scooted down the bench and hugged him tight. If they both let a few tears fall, they didn't mention it. When Elio pulled back, he rubbed his hands over his face and pulled them through his hair, letting out a loud sigh and clearing his throat. Marzia stood and pulled him up by his hand, not letting go of it as they made their way back through the woods. Elio was glad that he could hold her hand platonically now. He needed the comfort of it right now, no matter how much he didn't want to admit to it. 

"You said that I had known that you liked him before you knew yourself. When did you realise?" Marzia asked. 

"Honestly? Last night. Before then I ignored what I felt for him. I put it down to hate."

"Wow,"

"Yeah,"

Elio checked his watch as they emerged from the woods. It was almost 5pm, and therefore almost dark. It was extremely cold now, and Elio buried his hands in his pocket, still holding one of Marzia's. She laughed at him and wiggled her fingers which were intertwined with his. When they got to their usual parting place, they turned to each other. 

"Are you going to go on that date with Stephen?" Elio asked.

"Yes, I think I will,"

"I'm glad. He seems nice," and he was glad. He couldn't help but smile for her. "Thankyou, Marzia. So much. I can't tell you how good it feels for you to know,"

"You're welcome. Have a good weekend, Elio. If you need to talk about it any more, call me,"

"I will. And you can always talk to me if you need to. I owe you," he said.

"Silly. There's no debt,"

He smiled and pulled her hand out of his pocket to kiss it, and she kissed his cheek in return before they both said their goodbyes, turning to walk in opposite directions. Snow started to fall heavily by the time Elio was three houses away from his own. So the forecast was right. He was happy. The snow would make everything seem much more beautiful. As Elio turned his head to the dark sky, he let himself forget about everything that was going wrong. For a those few minutes, at least, he felt more free than he had in months


	3. Qualified Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who would've guessed that snowball fights and facial injuries could be so much fun?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***OLIVER'S POV PARTWAY THROUGH*** Just thought I'd throw a little curveball, maybe toss things up a bit with some dramatic irony. It's only a short part anyway and I'll be sure to mark it so you don't get mixed up.
> 
> Thankyou so much for your comments and kudos, I can't put into words how happy it makes me that you have been enjoying my work so far. I have been wanting to share my writing for a while now and I decided this was a good place to start. 
> 
> Sorry that I didn't update this sooner, I accidentally deleted part of the chapter twice and rewriting it after I was already happy with the part that I had written was very annoying.

The weekend brought with it snow. Heaps of it. There was no doubt that most students were hoping for a snow day when they returned to school on Monday, but the region was too prepared for the adverse weather to be too inconvenienced. Elio was among the students wishing for an extension to their weekend. It wasn't that he would rather be at home. In fact, he was rather bored at home, but he had decided it was best for him to avoid Oliver at all costs and having an extra few days off due to bad weather was definitely a good way to start. He had spent most of the weekend walking around the house like a ghost, haunting and wailing and dragging his feet. Being bored and naturally dramatic was not a good mix. At the worst of times Elio could be heard shouting, or even singing the word 'bored' to himself from the library, the study, the guest bedroom, wherever he had happened to wander to. Samuel and Annella had grown tired of it by Saturday afternoon. He divided his periods of purposeless roaming with intervals of reading, playing the piano, watching whatever had been left on TV, and when times got really tough, doing homework. On Sunday afternoon, he helped his father to to shovel out the driveway. By Sunday evening, he was helping his mother prepare dinner.

"Why are you so bored this weekend, Tesoro?" Annella asked, not looking up from the potatoes she was roughly cutting.

"Did you not want any help?" he replied, pausing halfway through peeling a carrot.

"No, I don't mind the help, but you never normally want to help out. What's got you so bored?"

"I don't know. It's probably because we're stuck inside,"

"Hm," she agreed, sliding the potatoes off of the cutting board and into a crockpot.

***

They ate steaming bowls of ribollita for dinner with a glass of rich red wine each, warming them from the inside out. It was considered _cucina povera_ \- poor cooking- but it tasted good and it was easy to find ingredients for when the snow stopped you from travelling. 

"How's Marzia?" Samuel asked, taking a swig of wine. All three of them had finished their meal.

"She's fine, I think,"

"You think? She's your best friend, no?" Annella commented.

"Yeah. Okay then, she's good. She's going on a date with a boy from school soon," he offered, knowing that it wasn't just highschool gossip because Marzia and her family had been friends with the Perlmans for years. Annella stuck out her bottom lip in thought but didn't say anything. Samuel, however, did.

"You're not with Marzia yourself?" he asked, and Annella shot him a glare, conscious that it could be an uncomfortable topic. It wasn't actually, and Elio didn't find himself getting very embarrassed talking about it. He was on more certain ground about it since he had spoken with Marzia on Friday.

"No, no," he insisted, taking a sip of wine before continuing, "we're just friends, nothing more,"

"As long as you're happy with that, and she's happy," Samuel narrowed his eyes.

"I am. We are. Happy, I mean," he assured them.

"Good," he said, standing from the table and holding his hand out for Elio's bowl. "Any more?" he asked, to which Elio shook his head, as did Annella when Samuel gestured at her empty bowl. He walked away to the sink, balancing the three bowls in his hands.

"Am I washing up?" Elio asked, looking over at his father over the kitchen worktop dividing the room, but speaking to his mother.

"No, you helped to cook. Unless you want to, of course,"

"I'll pass. I've got some work to finish," he said, standing from the table and placing his wine glass on the countertop.

His mother struck up a conversation with his father about the amount of snow and ice forecast for the next few days and how they'd have to grit the driveway as Elio left the kitchen and made his way up the stairs.

***

By the time Elio had completed his English essay, it was half past Nine. He had left his curtains open and turned on his lamp, and after tucking his essay into his textbook and shoving it in his bag ready for tomorrow morning, he sat down on his low windowsill to look out into the dark garden. A soft golden glow shone out from the windows downstairs, making the settled blanket of snow glitter. It shrouded the tables, the chairs, every statuette and tree branch that had a surface to offer, transforming the garden into a exhibition of winter's subtle beauty. It was times like this that he wished he had a younger sibling that he could spend hours sledding down a big hill with, or teaching to build the biggest, best snowman, or pelting with snowballs in the back garden. He would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous of his friends who could cling to their childish whims, if only to please their younger siblings. He was content with his books and his music and his life in general, but he couldn't help but feel that he could have milked at least a few more years of joy out of his childhood.

Elio gazed out into the still, white scene below him for a few minutes, letting the serenity of it subdue him. His mind hadn't allowed him many quiet moments this weekend. He was constantly thinking of work that he should be doing, or a movie that someone suggested that he could be watching, and then doing nothing about it. Instead, he would walk around the house tracing ever cabinet, bookshelf, photo frame and wall with his hands feeling restless and unable to settle for any specific task. He thought about school often, and everything that he had told Marzia. It brought a wave of dread over him, but also excitement. As much as he knew he would have to stay away from Oliver for everyone's benefit including his own, the thought of speaking to him by his locker about something stupid or sharing a quiet table with him at lunch made his stomach swoop with adrenaline. He would have to do something about that. 

***

Monday was wearisome, Tuesday was tedious, and the overall judgement of Wednesday was yet to be determined. By third period, it was looking like it was going to be another slow day. Boring, however, was better than some of the things that would have made his days seem decidedly more interesting. For example, if Elio had spoken to Oliver every time he had wanted to since the beginning of the week, he would have been very adequately entertained. Exhilerated, one might say. He hadn't even argued with him on the many occasions where the opportunity arose in class, and it was driving him insane. 

He was working his way through the chemistry equations mindlessly when Marzia scooted her stool closer to him and leaned in to speak.

"You haven't spoken to him since last week?" She asked, her voice masked by the din of quiet conversation in the room. Marzia never said Oliver's name anymore as if it was some kind of forbidden curse, and Elio wasn't sure whether he should laugh at it or be thankful. 

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he answered, annoyed. "You can speak to Chiara about this stuff but not me. She's the one that's getting with him. I'm just trying to forget about it all,"

"Sorry. It just seems so unfair. I kind of wish she was going after someone else, so then you'd at least have a fighting chance,"

"For the last time Marzia, he's not even gay!" Elio insisted, perhaps a little too loudly as his exclamation turned a few heads. Including their teacher's.

"Who, Mr Perlman, is not gay?" asked the nasal voice of their chemistry teacher, Mr Church, who was one of the people who would jump on any opportunity to humiliate someone. Elio felt Marzia go stiff beside him, and he worked on spewing out the first bit of bullshit he could find that wouldn't incriminate anyone.

"Macbeth," he said calmly. "Marzia said that he could have been, with Banquo, of course, as his lover. They were incredibly close, but I don't think one would murder their lover, Mr Church."

Their teacher furrowed his brow. "Right. Lets stick to chemistry, please," he suggested, peering over the top of his wire-framed glasses, clearly disappointed with the lack of embarrassment. Elio felt bad for anyone else who had been put in that situation without his self-assuredness and confidence. He could only imagine how mortifying it must be.

" Yes. Sorry, sir." He looked at Marzia as his teacher turned away and the chatter started back up, who snorted at his answer.

"Macbeth?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah, I thought there could have been something going on. I mean, he liked Banquo more than he liked his wife, but she _was_ a stone cold bitch,"

"Right," she said laughing. "That's why we love her." They turned back to their work after that, not speaking on the subject of Oliver again.

***

The rest of the day was uneventful, as predicted. He had avoided Oliver the best he could in gym, not antagonising and tackling him in basketball like he would have normally because now that Elio knew why he was so determined to annoy Oliver, it seemed like it would be too obvious to everyone else. He had been acting like a little boy tugging on the pigtails of his crush.

Oliver seemed to pick up on his behaviour of lack thereof, because he teased Elio about it in the locker room. He had approached him halfway through putting his shirt on, of course, because why wouldn't he unknowingly make things worse for Elio, who wasn't sure if he should avert his eyes or just straight out stare.

"Given up on trying to show everyone that you're better than me at literally everything?" Oliver joked. Elio was blushing at the half-assed compliment and looking for an escape when he replied.

"Haha, yeah," he laughed forcibly, barely meeting his eyes before he picked up his gym bag and darted past Oliver, getting out of the locker room as fast as he possibly could.

The toned muscle of Oliver's abdomen played on repeat on the backs of Elio's eyelids for the rest of the afternoon.

***

As Elio, Marzia and Chiara walked home that day, it started to snow again. It was only a sparse sprinkling of a few light snowflakes, but the writhing yellow-grey sky held the promise of a downpour. The conversation was as light as the snow, brushing on weekend plans and some TV show and what so and so had said in Marzia's homeroom. Suddenly, Elio remembered something from the previous Friday.

"Marzia, did you say yes to that date with Stephen in the end?" he asked, feeling guilty for not remembering sooner. He didn't feel as bad when he found that Marzia had forgotten as well.

"Oh! Yes, I did. We're going to some café in town and then we're going to see a movie,"

"Sounds fun. A bit basic, maybe,"

"Elio it's a first date," Chiara exclaimed. "They barely know each other yet, he can't just guess straight away what she wants to do!"

"He could have asked," he mumbled, holding his hands up in surrender when Chiara glared at him in such a way that would probably have burned a hole straight through his head if not for the cold weather. Marzia was laughing at the two of them despite the fact that they had monopolised a conversation that centred around her.

"I'm fine with it, Elio. We'll do something more fun next time," she insisted, finding it prudent to add "if there is a next time."

They continued walking for a few minutes in silence until they came across a field that was surrounded on three sides by trees and on one side - the side closest to them- a low wooden fence. The sheet of alabaster snow would have been perfectly unmarred if not for the multiple trails of footsteps which led to the centre of the field, where a small snowball fight was taking place. There were five people hurling the weaponised snow at each other mercilessly, and Chiara's eyes lit up when she looked back at Marzia and Elio. The three of them stopped walking.

"Come on Chiara, it's freezing," Elio pleaded despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins along with the desire to just let go and do something fun for once.

"Don't be such a spoilsport," she teased, already turning away from them and hopping over the fence, foregoing the gate that was just metres down the path. Marzia gazed up at Elio, laughed, and swung herself over the fence followed by Elio seconds later. The three of them ran as fast as they could to the edge of the field where they dumped their bags-and on second thought, their phones- before wading over to join the battle already being fought in the middle of the frosty white expanse of land. Within ten minutes, the action had attracted at least thirty students, and sides of the battle had been abandoned- it was a free for all. Elio had been attacking anyone within a five metre radius, and his fingers had started to go numb with the icy water that seeped through the fabric of his gloves. He was breathless and disoriented with the amount of snow being flung at him and he was so cold that he ached, but there was a perpetual smile on his face and his heart was soaring with the joy of acting with reckless abandon. He had been laughing non-stop for the whole time, adding to his breathlessness. 

Elio had retreated to the treeline to shake the snow from the hood of his coat and his scarf when a particularly compact snowball struck him square in the face with a wet _thunk._ The force of it had caused his lip to snag on his tooth, and he felt the warm gush of blood in his mouth before he tasted the bitter coppery twang. In his surprise, he had stumbled backwards a few steps, waving his arms in circles comically before falling flat on his ass in the snow. Upon finding that his face was so numb that he couldn't even feel any pain, and imagining how stupid he must have looked when he fell, he started laughing. Maniacally, in fact. He had his head tipped back and his eyes closed, letting the laughter rumble through him and rip into the cold air. He heard a low "oh, shit," and seconds later he was being pulled to his feet by his hand. When he opened his eyes, the laughter came to a stop. Oliver stood before him wrapped in a red scarf and big puffy coat. His eyebrows were drawn up and his eyes were wide with concern, and before Elio knew what was happening, Oliver reached a hand up towards his face.

He felt the pressure of one of Oliver's hands on the top of his head, tilting it back ever so slightly, and another hand on his chin, parting his lips so Oliver could see the damage inflicted. Elio thought to himself for a second that perhaps this is what it would feel like if Oliver were to kiss him, and his heart skipped a beat or two. 

"Fuck, sorry. I'm sorry," Oliver apologised, but Elio could barely hear him over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. Oliver didn't even need to apply pressure to get Elio to open his mouth, because his jaw had dropped of its own accord and he was now breathing- or maybe he wasn't- out of his mouth, trying to think at least one coherent thought. Oliver pulled at Elio's lip gently with his thumb, evaluating the gash in Elio's mouth that was gushing blood. His hands were as cold as the snow at their feet. Elio tried to say something, but his words were garbled by the hands restricting his head and the general inability to speak when Oliver was looking at him so intently. 

"Stop trying to speak, you'll make it worse," Oliver commanded, and Elio had to laugh because it was nothing but a small gash. The only reason that it was bleeding so much was because it was on his lip, where the skin was so thin. Elio ignored him and tried to speak again with more success this time. 

"Why are your hands so cold? Where are your gloves?" Elio inquired, despite being glad that he Oliver's hands were bare so he could feel his skin, no matter how cold it was. He was allowed to be glad about these things, you see, because he was delirious with the biting cold and the joy he had felt for the past twenty minutes. Or perhaps he was delirious from Oliver's closeness, glad that they had a reason to touch in a way that would be too intimate if not for the cut on Elio's lip. Either way, he was allowed to have this moment, if he could have no others. Elio's questions seemed to remind Oliver of something, but he still didn't reply. Instead, he reached into his pocket to pull out a red glove that matched his scarf. He leaned down towards the untouched snow to the left of them and started to pack the snow into his glove, pleased with it when the palm looked as if it had a hand in it. He put one hand onto the back of Elio's neck and drew him infinitesimally closer, causing him to stumble as his legs were unusually unsteady and he had been putting so much effort into not leaning in to Oliver's touch. Oliver righted him with a hand on his shoulder, which he pulled back seconds later to hold the snow-packed glove to Elio's busted lip. His eyebrows were drawn together and his bottom lip was pushed out in focus when he looked away from Elio's mouth and into his eyes to answer his previous question. That wasn't any better than when he had been staring at Elio's lips. In fact, it might have been worse due to the intensity of his gaze.

"I took them off," he said, meaning the gloves. "Can't pack a good snowball with gloves on." He realised the irony in his statement and _finally_ smiled. It was even more blinding than the stark white of the field behind them.

"Yeah, my face can attest to that," Elio quipped, glad that his voice was muffled by the pressure of the glove, otherwise the tremble in it might have been audible.

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to throw it so hard,"

"I can barely feel it because of the cold,"

"Let's keep it that way," Oliver shifted the glove slightly and air hissed through Elio's teeth. He felt that. Without meaning to, he reached up to clutch at Oliver's wrist where his hand was holding the back of Elio's neck. He squeezed at his arm unconsciously, before realising what he was doing. When Oliver glanced from Elio's eyes to the hand that was holding his wrist, Elio could see him bite the inside of his cheek. He dropped his hand to his side, wishing that he had tried to restrain himself more. 

"Are you mad at me?" Oliver asked, and Elio was thinking _what kind of question is that?_ until he remembered that his lip was split, and that he probably should be angry if he was trying to keep up the act. He remembered what Marzia had said about the whole act being overkill, and decided that now would be a good time to start excusing his past behaviour.

"No. Why would I be mad?" He asked, knowing exactly why Oliver would expect him to be mad. His words were somewhat unintelligible. He felt the hand move from the back of his head and he was mentally reeling at the loss, trying to find any way to get Oliver's hands back on him, though he knew he shouldn't want them. His thoughts were interrupted by a semi-warm hand on his own wrist (warm from the contact with Elio's scalp, if he had to guess). The heat he felt when surrounded by so much cold was so pleasant that Elio found himself wishing to bury his hands under the layers of clothes Oliver was wearing and touch his skin to see if he was just as warm there, wrapping himself around him until he felt nothing, was nothing but the warmth of Oliver.

Elio felt his limp arm being dragged upwards while the other boy peeled the impromptu icepack away from his face. "What?" Oliver asked, pressing the glove into Elio's hand and folding his fingers around it. Feeling his hand encompassed by Oliver's larger one was something close to bliss. His hand was guided up to his face, and Oliver held it there himself for a seconds before he was sure that Elio could hold it himself. 

"I said why would I be mad at you?"

"You're always mad at me Elio," Oliver said, and hearing his own name on those lips was maddening. He would do anything to hear it again, and again, and again. "You literally find any opportunity you can to argue with me, and if looks could kill I would have been stone dead on multiple occasions,"

"I'm not actually mad at you though. There wasn't anyone smart enough to debate with before you joined, so I have a lot of good points stocked up to use on you. And maybe I just have a resting bitch face,"

"Maybe. I'm glad you're not mad, though," Oliver admitted, and it did strange things to Elio. A steady ache erupted behind his sternum and his heart picked up its pace. Before he could say anything, there were hands back on his face. He had thought the touching part was over, and he was pleasantly surprised to find it wasn't as well as inadequately jumpy. He jerked back slightly, almost falling on his ass again.

"Quit moving, you'll hurt yourself," Oliver mumbled, preoccupied with placing his hands on either side of Elio's jaw and tilting his head up again. As soon as he was happy with the position of Elio's head, he moved his fingers to his nose, feeling his way along it and then lowering his own head slightly, presumably checking for blood.

"Does that hurt?" Oliver asked with all the authority of a qualified doctor.

"Nope," Elio answered, about to answer _no sir_ but then changing his mind because he overthought everything. "When did you take the Hippocratic oath?" Elio joked.

"Oh, my Grandma's a big fan of Grey's Anatomy. I've got to be at least, like, a nurse by now." _So he is funny_ , Elio thought, ticking off another cross on his checklist and then throwing away the checklist completely when he remembered that he shouldn't have one. He laughed and looked down at the ground for a second before forcing himself to look up again, not wanting to seem like a shy, blushing idiot. In the time that he had been looking at his feet, Oliver's hands caught his eye.

"Oh, you've got, uh, you've got blood on your hand," Elio mentioned, embarrassed that he had gotten his mouth blood on Oliver, who looked down at his hand and stuck out his bottom lip like he had when he had been concentrating earlier. He wiped his hand on the corner of his scarf, apparently not caring about the stain. 

"All part of the job,"

Elio laughed at that, and then stopped laughing completely when Oliver said "c'mere," gesturing towards the glove he was currently holding to his face whilst still holding the corner of the scarf that he had used to clean off his hand. When Elio dropped his hand from his face, Oliver cleaned the blood from his chin and mouth.

"There. All clean," he stated, dropping the corner of his scarf and taking the glove from Elio's limp hand, which was now retaining more icy water in the woollen strands than snow. Oliver packed it again before handing it back to Elio, smiling.

"Thanks. For everythi-" he was interrupted by someone calling his name. He looked over Oliver's shoulder to where Chiara was bounding through the deep snow, followed closely by Marzia, who stopped a few feet away while Chiara came right up to them.

"What happened?" She asked breathlessly.

"I got him in the mouth with a snowball," Oliver confessed.

"It was more of an iceball. He shredded my lip," Elio laughed. "Joking, joking. I told you I'm not mad," he added when Oliver was starting to look particularly guilty. Chiara examined his mouth, where his lip had started to swell. She looked concerned for a second, before a glint of humour flashed in her eyes.

"Go for the nose next time," she turned to Oliver. "I have a feeling he's much too vain about his nose." Oliver laughed gently at the joke.

" _Stronza_. I've never said shit about my nose," he said, hoping that maybe Chiara's joke made Oliver think about Elio's nose, and then hoping that his brain would stop caring about what Oliver thought, especially when Chiara was literally right there. He was feeling the loss of the personal little bubble that had been created by how close and attentive Oliver had been, and how willing Elio had been to whatever the other boy wanted. It felt much colder without his hand on his face, his neck, his mouth. He pulled himself back to the present before he could get too carried away. There was a moment of silence between the four of them, and an awkwardness that had not been there when it was just Oliver and Elio.

"Right. Well. I've got friends out there that I need to decimate. More lips to split, you know," he quipped, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the raging battle before turning to leave them when everyone nodded their heads. He got a few metres away when he turned shout "Later," at them over his shoulder.

"Pfft, later," Chiara mumbled when he was out of earshot, clearly disgruntled with his speedy departure.

"Go out there and join him if you want," Elio offered. She seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking her head.

"No. I'm freezing and soaked through,"

"Me too," Marzia added. They were all stood lined up on the edge of the woods, looking in towards the field like stray soldiers on the outskirts of No Man's Land. When Elio looked away from the carnage and down at Marzia, he could see the concern in her eyes and her furrowed brow, but neither of them could say anything about it right now.

"Home?" Elio asked, already knowing the answer. His fellow soldiers agreed, and they started tromping across snow-laden ground, homeward bound.

***

They reached Chiara's house first, of course, and they had all apparently decided without discussing it that they were spending the evening together. Marzia and Elio looked at her expectantly as they came to the end of her driveway. 

"Oh, my aunt is in town for the week," she explained. That was justification enough. Chiara's aunt was probably a nice person in general, but _by God_ was she annoying. They kept walking down the sidewalk, sodden and freezing and bone-weary. 

"My house?" queried Elio. It was the logical choice. It was closer than Marzia's and it was the most homely to them all, between the comforting décor and his parent's second-to-none hospitality. He didn't even receive a reply, but he knew their answer. They continued their on their journey, shivering and accidentally knocking shoulders when their feet were too numb to take them in the right direction.

"So, are you over your unwavering hate of Oliver now?" Chiara asked, sniffling and wiping at her nose with the soaked sleeve of her coat, not caring for decorum anymore. Elio almost jumped out of his skin at the mention of Oliver, who he was already thinking about when Chiara brought him up.

"Why would I be?" He wondered if keeping up the act in front of Chiara would be more beneficial or detrimental. 

"He was so nice to you earlier! He said sorry and he fixed your face. He even gave you his glove," Chiara gestured at the dripping wet glove hanging from Elio's hand.

"He was the one who broke my face in the first place! He owed me the apology."

"Okay, but he didn't have to be so nice. Especially when you're so horrible to him most of the time. If he was half as bad as you thought he was he would've just laughed at you and left you to bleed," she insisted. 

"Fine, I don't hate him as much," he admitted, finding it funny how much he didn't hate him. Chiara gave a satisfied hum and then raised her hands to her mouth to blow warm air into them.

"Hey, Elio," Marzia started. "Did I hear you call Chiara _stronza_ earlier?" Elio glared at her. Traitor.

"No, I think the cold has gone to your head," he leaned over to her and rested his arm on top of her head, leaning his own head down on top of it in a such a way that always annoyed her. She poked his ribs hard and he instantly recoiled.

"Actually I do remember that and I think my head is perfectly okay," Chiara contributed, glaring up at Elio.

"I would never,"

"Yeah, right. You had better watch your mouth, boy," she teased, kicking grey slush from the sidewalk onto his already numb feet. 

***

**OLIVER'S POV**

He had lied. He didn't join back in with the snowball fight. Oliver crossed the field, steering clear of the action and collecting his bag from beneath the copse of trees on the other side. Walking home, it was like he was on autopilot. His feet and his arms and his eyelids were heavy, but his heart was lighter than it had been in too long. 

His mind was clouded with thoughts of a pale face, almost blending in with the snow, and a shock of dark hair that stood out against the white everything. He had felt bad. He hadn't meant to hurt him. In fact, he wasn't even sure that he had meant to throw the snowball, but his body acted before his mind. _Just one conversation. Just one joke. Just one smile. All I want is to be friends._ He got more than he had bargained for. Perhaps some of it was overkill, but that was easily masked by concern. The blood _had_ worried him at first, but once he was sure that there was no pain, he relaxed. A little too much, maybe. One hand on his head and one on his chin, a thumb on his lip. He could've kissed him. No, that was wrong. He shouldn't want to kiss him.

He couldn't forget the feeling of his hot breath on his fingers when he had tipped his head back. _This is how it's meant to be,_ he had thought to himself. Without the facial injuries, of course. The way he had gripped his wrist, if only for a second, was unforgettable. The way his scalp was so warm against Oliver's numb palm and his hair was so soft when he had threaded his fingers through it under the premise of added support. Those lips, so red and vibrant even when he had cleaned them of blood. The tip of his nose that had turned pink with the cold, along with the tops of his ears. He could have kissed them back to warmth if propriety wasn't an issue. He had done nothing but stand and stare when Oliver had felt along his nose and ducked closer to him as if he were checking for blood. As if he wasn't begging for any excuse to get closer and yet closer still to lips that he couldn't kiss. And God, how he had stared. Those eyes were unforgiving. They never lacked intensity. He would take a glower from those eyes over complete ignorance any day, and he often did. He had left him with a "Later," when it would've seemed more appropriate to kiss him senseless. He had expected fire, or ice at the very least. He had expected bitter, angry words and barely veiled insults, but had found someone completely different. He had found someone open to his tentative touch and susceptible to his half-baked humour. He had gotten a laugh or two, and Oh, what he would do to get four or eight. 

But it was time to pack all of that away now. With a heart now just as heavy as his feet and his arms and his eyelids, he forced himself to think of something else, _anything else._ This was just lust. Just teenage curiosity that would clear up in no time. That's all he could afford for it to be. It was a hard task, trying consciously to force his thoughts in the right direction when they would rebel and pull at the reigns every second or so . He would get so far just to see another glimpse of those curls, or another pale, thin hand clutching desperately at his. Yes, it was hard, but it was necessary. He would be gone from this place all too soon, snatched up without concern for the roots that had begun to grow and cling to everything around him and cast out into a new sea of people. He couldn't grow attached. It was senseless lust, just materialism. Plain and simple. It was bad, but it was more understandable and excusable than the alternative. So he packed it away. And away it would stay. For the good of everyone.

***

**ELIO'S POV**

Elio, Chiara and Marzia stepped into the Perlman house just as Annella reached the bottom of the staircase with a laundry basket tucked under her arm. The three of them were kicking off shoes and taking off coats frantically, dripping all over the clean tiled floor.

"Oh, mon Dieu!" she gasped, hurrying towards them and stuffing the coats they had removed into her laundry basket. Packed with water, they weighed ten times as much as they normally would. She decided she would have to deal with the shoes later. "What on Earth have you been doing?"

"Snowball fight," Elio tremored with blue lips, "big field near school,"

"I hope it was fun enough to justify the hypothermia you're well on your way to," she took another look at the Elio and his friends and changed her mind. "In fact, I think you already have it. Go and take a hot shower. All three of you. Bring down your wet clothes when you're done, I'll dry them for you. Oh, and I'm going to make some food, any preferences?" The three of them barely acknowledged the question, so Annella took it as a 'no' and began thinking about what she could cook up quickly. Elio was halfway up the stairs when he changed his mind.

"Soup, actually," he said, deciding that he was too cold and tired to chew. "Please."

***

Marzia took the guest ensuite bathroom, Chiara took the big stand-alone bathroom, and Elio used his own. He turned on the shower absent-mindedly, feeling as if he would never be warm again. He instantly deplored himself for taking every moment that he had ever been warm for granted, and swore that he never would again. The next time he found himself being warm, he would relish in it. Well, that's what he told himself, anyway. When the shower had warmed up, he stepped right under the stream of hot water, not even bothering to take off his clothes. They were already almost completely soaked anyway. For a few minutes, he stood there and did nothing but let the water permeate his clothes and his skin, relaxing his taut, shivering muscles and finally replacing the numbness with warmth. He took off the rest of his clothes and flung them into the corner of the shower.

Regretfully, the heat that had relaxed his muscles had also allowed his brain to develop from troglodytic thoughts (must be warm, must be warm), to more developed thoughts (Oliver. Oliver's hands. Oliver's face). Okay, they weren't that much more developed, but when they did develop Elio wished they had gone in any direction other than the one they went in. He found himself overtaken with regret and self hate for even allowing himself to be in that situation. He should have pretended to be mad, like Oliver had expected him to be. He should have yelled and told him to go fuck himself, because maybe he wouldn't have found himself in _this_ exact situation not an hour later. The thought of all the senseless touches that had meant nothing to Oliver and so much to Elio made him sick, because he didn't want to touch him if it meant nothing. He didn't want to be near him if he had to be casual about it. That was a common occurrence, he realised, after having spoken to or done anything with Oliver. In the moment, Elio wanted Oliver to say something more, or to touch him again even if it was purely platonic, but afterwards when he was nowhere near Oliver he wanted to stay as far away from him as possible so he would never be so vulnerable again. He always made a short lived pact with himself to never allow himself to be near enough to Oliver to feel the same regret and mortification. Good. That was good, he decided. As long as he knew that liking Oliver was pointless because there was no hope for them, he would never allow himself to fall too far. However, there was the small problem of the time in between his moments of exposure to Oliver. When it had been a day or two, the immediate instincts of self-preservation were near enough forgotten, and he often found himself thinking of Oliver, and what he would like to have a good, deep conversation about, or how he would kiss him if he was just given a chance, or how it would feel to lie in his arms without thinking about all the reasons that he _couldn't_ be in his arms. That wouldn't do. He would have to try harder to replace those thoughts with logical, grounded ones about all the impracticalities and impossibilities that stood in the way. Like Chiara, and Oliver's supposed sexuality, and the fact that Elio was still considered straight by everyone but Marzia.

He washed himself slowly, revelling in the lavender scent, the way the tendrils of fog curled and writhed, and the way that the water ran in rivulets down his shoulders and arms. When he finally stepped out of the shower, he remembered that neither Chiara nor Marzia had dry clothes to change into. He rifled through his wardrobe and found clothes for all of them. He pulled on an old ratty sweater that was thick and comfortable and a pair of sweatpants. For Chiara and Marzia, he chose a zip-up hoodie and the thickest knitted jumper he could find, along with two pairs of sweatpants which could be drawn in around the waist and which he wasn't even sure he ever had worn. On second thought, he pulled out three pairs of socks, two of which were brand new out of the pack because he assumed that they would appreciate not having to share used socks with him. He delivered the one pile of clothes to the guest bed and placed one on the floor outside of the main bathroom, knocking on each door to alert them to the clothes waiting for them. After that, he took his own wet clothes downstairs to the laundry room off of the kitchen.

Five minutes later, Marzia slipped through Elio's ajar bedroom door and plonked herself down on the end of the bed, directly opposite from him. The clothes didn't completely dwarf her as Elio was quite thin himself, but it was still slightly too long. Her hair was wrapped in a towel that she gave up on when it shifted almost completely off of her head upon sitting down. 

"Did you take your clothes down?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Good."

"I love being able to feel my hands," she joked, wiggling her fingers in front of his face.

"I think I was like three minutes away from losing a toe," he replied. It was quiet for a minute as Marzia towelled her hair off a bit more and then combed through it with her fingers. She spoke again when she had settled and Elio didn't expect the sudden change of topics.

"What happened earlier?" she asked in a gentle voice that she used specifically for when she was trying not to scare Elio off. It annoyed him more than it calmed him.

"You don't have to speak to me like I'm a street cat that you're trying to tame. Stop walking on eggshells around me,"

"Fine. What happened?" she repeated, this time abandoning any attempt at being soft-spoken. She also let the wary and concerned expression drop from her face, looking at him blankly and expecting an answer. He preferred it like that, when they didn't have to try not to offend eachother.

"Nothing really. He hit me in the face with a snowball. He tried to fix it. That's it."

"Stop being so vague. He was literally holding your face when I turned around and you looked like you were having a very good time. Well, apart from the bleeding mouth and all," she added, causing Elio to reach up and touch his lip that was still slightly swollen and sore. He ran his tongue over the healing wound, and tasted the salty residue of his blood.

"Wait, why did you come over so late if you saw what had happened?" 

"I didn't want to dramatize it, you seemed like you were in good hands. And I wanted you to have that moment alone, if you couldn't have any others. I know it's probably wrong because Chiara is the one that I should be trying to get him with, but she can have so many other moments. I just thought maybe that could be yours." Elio was conflicted with that information. He wished Marzia had intervened sooner, so he didn't have as much to feel bad about but he was also glad that he was allowed that one moment alone with Oliver even if it meant nothing. 

"He's not prop for any of us to build memories around, Marzia. What he wants plays a part in this too, and I can't lie and tell myself that he wants _me_ just so I can keep fantasizing about us. I can't convince myself that every little thing he does means that he likes me because I would be deluding my self, and it would ruin me when he eventually gets with Chiara or whoever the fuck else. That 'moment' you wanted to give to us won't belong to us because there is no 'us', and there won't be an 'us'. And if there was some moment that you keep speaking of, it should have been Chiara's moment. She's the one who can have him, if he wants to give himself to her. I don't want memories of moments that mean nothing. I don't want to be reminded of the time that I spent months wishing for something I couldn't have every time I have a snowball fight. This is all ridiculous." He sighed, running his hands through his hair with building frustration. "It's like waiting for the sky to turn green just because that's the colour you particularly want it to be. I can't like him like this anymore. I can't have him and he doesn't want me, and this'll all end with my feelings getting hurt and him being completely oblivious because he played no part in it. I'll be the only one who played a part in it. Me and my delusions and my pointless wishing, so no I don't want any of it. As soon as I can go back to hating him, I will." Elio hadn't meant to go for a dramatic monologue, but as soon as he started, he couldn't stop. Each word and each thought just kept coming, and they hadn't stopped yet but he had silenced himself in case he seemed like he was thinking too far into it. Marzia hadn't even mentioned half of the points that he had started ranting about. He wasn't even sure if it all made sense, but it felt good to finally get it off of his chest. Marzia looked at him quietly from the end of the bed, taking in what he had said.

"Okay. Sorry. But I don't think you can just start hating him again. I mean, you didn't actually hate him in the first place. You just told yourself that you did."

"Well I can tell myself that I hate him again, then. I was pretty successful last time."

"Don't be too mean to him, he'll get confused. One minute you're practically falling at his feet and the next you're back to ignoring him," she joked, lightening up the conversation. Elio sensed that she wasn't completely done with the topic, but he was glad to be rid of it for now.

"We can only hope that he's stupid enough to be confused. No one is allowed to be as perfect as he seems. There has to be _something_ wrong with him," he mused, trying to imagine what Oliver's downfall would be.

"He probably has three nipples or, like, an ear growing on his ass cheek," Marzia giggled. Elio erupted into laughter.

"I bet he's one of the people that says 'too kind' or 'too much of a hard worker' when they get asked about the negative aspects of their personality," Elio added, only just recovering from the last fit of laughter.

"I bet he puts the milk in before the cereal," snorted Marzia. They went on like this, ribbing poor Oliver who wasn't even there to defend himself until Chiara came into the room with a towel wrapped around her shoulders and a halo of drying curls around her head. She sunk down into the armchair in the corner of the room.

"What are you laughing at?" She asked, already smiling at her friends' ridiculous cackling.

"Marzia said that Oliver probably has an ear on his ass cheek," Elio supplied, and Chiara snorted before composing herself.

"Don't be mean," she frowned, though it was clear that she was struggling not to smile. "He was so nice to you earlier, and you should never say stuff about someone that you wouldn't say to their face," she chided.

"What makes you think that I wouldn't say it to his face?" Elio challenged, wondering if he actually would. He probably would, given the right situation. He had to find some way to make out that he hated Oliver again. He remembered that he told Oliver earlier that he had never actually been mad at him, and realised that he would have to take back that admission ASAP. Then he remembered Oliver's glove, and cringed at the idea of having to give it back to him.

"I still have his glove downstairs, by the way. You can give it back to him if you want, Chiara. It'll give you an excuse to talk to him," he wriggled his eyebrows at her and she pulled a folded comforter off of the arm of the chair, launching it at his face. Despite her show of dismay, she was glad for the opportunity to speak to Oliver again. Marzia took the blanket off of Elio's lap and covered herself with it. She looked as if she was a few quiet minutes away from sleep, and Chiara also looked too still curled up in the armchair, so Elio stood up from the bed and stated "Food," concerned that he himself might fall asleep if they sat still for any longer. Marzia stood up, wrapping the comforter around her shoulders and letting the end drag on the floor like a cape.

"We have blankets downstairs, you know," Elio said, staring down at her.

"I know, but I like this one," Marzia replied, brushing past him where he stood in the doorway. Chiara followed shortly after and Elio closed the door behind them.

The sock-footed trio tiptoed down the creaky oak panelled landing. There was a vintage Turkish runner rolled out across the slim stretch of floor patterned with rich crimsons and exquisite greens woven into a warm, neutral background. Elio guessed that it must have taken ages to complete with the painstaking detail. The landing was sandwiched between the upstairs rooms of the house on either side of it, so the only windows were either end on the sides of the house. The curtains on both windows had been closed, and the only light was coming from the foyer at the bottom of the stairs and the bar shaped picture lights mounted periodically along the walls. Said walls were covered with photographs, paintings and textile works that the family had either inherited or collected themselves. They gave the narrow hallway the feel of a quiet gallery wing. There was also a sizeable gilded mirror hung on the wall, the golden frame of which could probably be considered art as well. The walls themselves were painted a blueish-grey colour to maintain the dark, intimate feeling of the landing and to provide a neutral base to hang whatever they wished on. Elio's favourite piece was a lattice of ancient-looking worn leather hung in a deep box frame. It had once been the cover of the seat of the piano stool downstairs, but it was tattered and worn thin from being passed through generations of Annella's family, so the piano stool had been reupholstered in an almost identical fashion to how it was before. Deeming the original leather too important as it had been imbued with decades, maybe even centuries of memories, Annella had framed it and hung it amongst other treasures on the wall. Elio had first learned to play the piano sat on those scraps of leather. Marzia and Chiara found a new baby picture to tease Elio with every time they looked at these walls.

They reached the stairs halfway down the landing and rushed down them, spurred on by the smell of hot food emanating from the kitchen. As they entered the room, Elio headed straight to his mother while Marzia and Chiara sat at the table.

"What are you cooking?" Elio asked, sniffing the air.

"Carrot and lentil soup," she answered, not even looking up from the pot. He leaned back against the worktop and hummed in satisfaction. "Are you taking them to the guest dining room?" Annella asked, and Elio almost laughed at the suggestion. Marzia and Chiara had been family friends for years now, it would be weird to treat them like formal company. This was nowhere near a formal occasion anyway. They had tromped through the house dripping wet and were only here for a good hot meal.

"Maman, they are animals!" He joked, earning a gentle slap on the back of his hand.

"Elio! don't be rude, they are friends," she looked over her shoulder in apology but Marzia and Chiara had barely heard. The kitchen was divided with an arm of worktop that jutted out between the table and the area where food was prepared, which gave them enough space between to speak on one side of the room without being heard from the other side, providing they were quiet enough. The girls looked up and smiled sweetly when they realised that Elio and his mother were looking at them.

"I think they would be more comfortable eating in here anyway. Are you and Papa eating with us?" She glanced at the clock hanging above the door before deciding.

"Yes, its too late to cook again for ourselves later. Go and get him for me?" she asked. "He's in the study."

Elio left the kitchen without Marzia and Chiara realising, as they were still deep in conversation. He crossed the foyer to the door of the study, which he knocked on lightly before stepping in. The study was designed similarly to the library, with dark mahogany and tanned leather furniture, dark green walls, long twin windows due to high ceilings, and gold accents all around the room. The whole room projected an air of half grandiose, half cluttered and clumsy academia. Samuel Perlman was perched on the edge of a dark, polished desk that had been carved with curvature and flair, skimming over a letter that he had received. When Elio entered, he looked up and smiled.

"Dinner's ready," Elio mumbled, pushing the door open further for Samuel to pass through. They crossed over to the kitchen together. 

"I heard about your grand entrance," Samuel grinned. "Did you have fun, at least? Oh, what happened to your mouth?" he asked, and Elio had completely forgotten about the cut. He blushed at the memory.

"A particularly compact snowball got me in the face," he supplied. Samuel nodded, looking concerned as they crossed the threshold to the kitchen. Elio sat down while his father joined his mother, cutting bread and plating it. Eventually they all sat down and ate, conversing in the way people do with close family friends. The conversation was mainly between Annella, Marzia and Chiara, sometimes joined by Samuel but almost never by Elio, who was so tired that he was actively putting effort into trying not to put his elbow on the table to rest his head on it. He knew his mother wouldn't approve of that. When they had all eaten their fill, they retired to their respective sections of the house: Samuel back to the study, Annella to the library, and Elio, Marzia and Chiara to the living room to watch whatever was on TV. Marzia and Chiara were sprawled out on the sofa, sharing the blanket that Marzia had taken from Elio's bedroom earlier, and Elio was sat on one of the armchairs, wrapped in his own knitted blanket that he had pulled off the back of the chair. Another episode of _Gilmore Girls_ had begun to play. It was what was on when they first turned the TV on, so it was staying on. He was sure they were all too tired to actually be watching, anyway. Just as another yawn came upon him, he decided that coffee would be a good idea. He stood up and left, followed soon after by Marzia. Chiara had been too tired to ask what they were doing or to follow them. 

When Marzia came into the kitchen, Elio was already filling the French press with hot water and stirring it.

"I thought you were still in the living room," he said, looking up briefly and then looking back down to the coffee.

"No, I wanted to talk to you." Elio sighed. He had expected this.

"Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

"Wouldn't it be a good idea to tell Chiara about your feelings for Oliver? That way, no one would end up hurt, and it's not as if anything will be lost. They're barely even friends yet." Elio hadn't expected _that._

"What the fuck?" He was genuinely bewildered. "I can't tell Chiara! What good would telling her do? I know that either way that there's no chance in Hell that I can be with Oliver for reasons I've _already_ stated, so why would I take away Chiara's chance as well? She likes him and she can have him! What kind of friend would I be to deprive her of happiness just because I like the same person?" He was whisper-shouting by now, and had abandoned the coffee. 

"If you told her you won't get hurt! Of course, not having a chance with him hurts, but not having a chance and then watching your friend get with him instead? I don't want that to happen to you! If Chiara knew, she wouldn't want it to happen either."

"I am not sacrificing Chiara's happiness just because we like the same person. I need to grow up and accept that this happens every single day. Sometimes friends get what you want, it's just a part of life. The same as unrequited love, or like. I'm not throwing a hissy fit just because I can't get what I want."

"It's not like that and you know it. I'm just trying to protect your feelings because you won't do it for yourself. What happens when Chiara starts bringing him out with us, or when he starts walking back home from school with us, or when she starts telling me about how good of a kisser he is and you just happen to be there to hear it, huh? What happens when he actually kisses her in front of you, or he tells her that he loves her? What happens then? I don't want you to start hating her because she has what you can't have. I don't want Oliver to drive a wedge between the two of you." Elio looked disgusted at that. He stared at her with his mouth open in disbelief before turning back to the press and shoving the plunger down.

"Do you really think that little of me? You think I would start hating her just because I'm jealous? I'm not a child. If I'm going to hate anyone, it won't be Chiara. It'll be me, for letting myself like him in the first place, and most likely Oliver. If I'm not allowed to like him then I'm sure as Hell gonna feel _something_ for him. If that something is hate then that's fine by me."

"Okay, maybe you won't hate her, but what about the rest of it?"

"I'll stay away from them when they're together as much as possible. It's quite simple."

"God, Elio, it's not always going to be that simple. There's gonna be times that you can't escape it."

"Well I'm not planning on liking him by then, so it won't matter. And if I still do like him, maybe seeing them together will help."

"Stop with that bullshit! You keep saying that you hate yourself for _letting_ yourself like him, or that you'll make yourself stop liking him as if any of it is a choice. We don't get to decide who our hearts choose, Elio, we just get dragged along for the ride. If we're kicking and screaming, so be it. Our hearts never have self-preservation in mind. You can't just stop caring because you want to. You already know this, you're just denying it. Stop lying to yourself." Elio huffed. Everything she said was right. So right, in fact, that the words had pierced him like a rapier and the puncture mark caused him to deflate. The fight had left him completely.

"It doesn't matter. If I can keep the damage to a minimum, I will. One sad person is better than two, and if the sad person has to be me, fine. It'll all work out eventually."

"I hope it does. I really hope it does. And stop being such a martyr, I want you to be happy," Marzia frowned.

"It's kind of an impossible situation, Marzia. We can't all win. I'm not trying to be a martyr, but me losing is the lesser of two evils."

"This is shit. It sucks. Really, really bad," groaned Marzia, letting her head flop back to look at the ceiling. 

"You're telling me," Elio snorted. He twisted to get three mugs off of the rack, and then turned back around to have Marzia wrap her arms around him. He held his arms up in the air for a second before finally relaxing and wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

"So you're not telling Chiara, then?" she asked, and the question was muffled in his sweater.

"No, and if you utter so much as a word to her about it, I will literally never speak to you again. I'm not joking."

"I won't. Promise." They stood for a while longer until Chiara came in. 

"Why are you taking so lon- Oh," She stopped dead in her tracks and then started to back up. "Sorry, did I interrupt something?" Marzia turned around at her voice.

"No-God no," she stuttered.

"I wish," Elio mumbled, thinking that it would be much simpler if she had interrupted something between them, because then there wouldn't be this whole Oliver problem. Upon receiving a confused look from Chiara realized that he couldn't explain the joke to her. "Not like that," he clarified. "I just mean- oh, never mind." Chiara continued to gaze at him imploringly, and he struggled to find some way to convince her that there was nothing going on between him and Marzia, because otherwise she would never drop the subject. He settled on something as close to the truth as possible. 

"I like someone and I can't do anything about it because I just promised a friend that I would help them get with them before I knew who it was."

"Oh. Who?" she asked. "I mean which friend did you promise to help?" Elio was left scrambling to find someone that was believable but also irrelevant enough for Chiara to not follow up on.

"Uh, Ryan from homeroom." That would do the trick. Ryan was untraceable out of homeroom.

"Why didn't you just back out when you found out who he liked? Or better yet, why didn't you just tell him that you liked the same person?" The irony hit Elio like a ton of bricks, and it looked as if it did the same to Marzia because she suddenly busied herself with pouring the coffee into cups.

"I didn't have a chance with them in the first place, so I thought I may as well let Ryan have his chance."

"Right. I see your point but it's still kind of stupid that you're helping him. Isn't that a little bit masochistic? You could probably avoid it if you tried hard enough." She said, taking a coffee cup from Marzia. Elio shrugged and gestured to the door, taking his own cup. Marzia looked up at him as Chiara left and she looked physically pained by the irony. He shot a panicked look back at her before following Chiara to the living room.

***

Marzia and Chiara stayed until 9pm that night. Elio's father drove them home because Elio was nearly delirious with fatigue and the adverse weather was not going to help his case. He still chose to sit in the passenger seat as they were dropped home, though. He wanted to fill every spare minute with something so that when he did go to bed, he would fall asleep instantly and not think about everything that had happened that day. Before they left, Annella gave them their clothes back, which were warm and dry now as Annella had washed them and dried them. Their shoes were still a bit wet, but there was not much that could be done about that. Elio had been sure to find Oliver's glove for Chiara to return, which had also been washed and was now free of blood. Each girl was dropped at her house with a wave and a "see you tomorrow." The drive back home was silent. They were about halfway home when Samuel spoke up. Elio had been staring out at the slick road in front of them illuminated by the headlights when he was dragged from his reverie.

"You've been awfully quiet lately. I mean, for the last few days. Maybe even weeks. What's wrong, Elio?" His father asked, glancing over quickly before looking back at the road. Elio looked down at his hands and decided that he was tired of all the speeches that he had made and heard recently.

"It's just teenager stuff. Stupid, really."

"It's never been just kid stuff or just teenager stuff with you. You seem to exceed all age brackets," he joked. "But, really. Even if it is just teenager stuff, I was one once, and whatever it is you're upset by it so I'd like to know."

Elio's mind was racing. He could kill two birds with one stone, here, if he was smart about it. He had never actually thought about coming out to his parents. He didn't think that they'd care all that much. Whether they were surprised or not, they probably wouldn't make a scene and Elio was glad of that, but was now really the right time to just come out and say it? Like, literally come out? If he was going to slip it into casual conversation, now would be as good of a time as ever. He could also tell his father about his current predicament. They didn't really speak about things like this. Elio didn't mind speaking to his father about it, it's just not something he would normally go out of his way to tell his parents about. He decided there couldn't be any harm in mentioning it. He might even gain some decent advice.

"Well then. There's this, uh, person that I like."

"Okay? And?" His father asked when he started to hesitate.

"And it's kind of an impossible situation, but no matter how hard I try I just can't stop thinking about it."

"Why is it impossible?" Samuel queried, sensing that if he wanted to hear it he would have to keep asking the right questions. 

"Well, um, Chiara likes them too, and she doesn't know that I like them, and she has more of a chance with them,"

"How do you know that she has more of a chance?" Samuel realised that he was going to find out that one of them was at least a little bit gay.

"Because the person we both like is straight, so there's a much bigger chance of him choosing Chiara over me," Elio snorted despite not finding it very funny at all. As much as he was sure that his parents didn't mind, he was still terrified of revealing that he liked boys. It was just ingrained in him at this point that he should be scared of getting a negative reaction from everyone. His stomach leapt with fear and anticipation as his answer lingered in the air.

"Are you sure that he's straight?" His father didn't miss a beat.

"Well, no but I think it would be safer to assume. He _seems_ very straight," he reasoned, although he remembered the way Oliver had held his face and cared for him. He was willing to bet that most if not all of the boys in their highschool wouldn't have done the same for fear of seeming like they cared too much or like they were too 'touchy-feely'. However, it wasn't completely impossible to find a straight boy chose morals over toxic masculinity. Maybe Oliver was just a good person.

"Well people would be wrong to assume that you were straight, no matter how straight you seem. Stereotypes are the problem, there. Just because he doesn't fit the mould, or because you don't fit the mould that society has formed, doesn't mean that you aren't gay. Or bi, sorry?" He asked as an afterthought, deciding that he should be sure from the beginning.

"Bi, yeah." Elio replied both annoyed and conflicted by the fact that he had used the exact same reasoning as Marzia. It was easier and safer to assume that Oliver was straight until he said differently himself. He didn't want to get his hopes up.

"So, has he actually shown any interest in Chiara or are you getting ahead of yourself?"

"He has, kind of. They're speaking or something." Elio wasn't actually sure. He assumed that they would be well on their way to a relationship if Chiara was determined enough.

"Right. Are you going to tell her? That has to be better than just letting it happen. I'm sure she wouldn't want to go ahead with it if she knew she was hurting you."

"That's the problem. I don't want to ruin a potential relationship just because I'm jealous. I want her to go ahead with it. Maybe then I'll forget about him."

"Maybe. But is that a risk you're willing to take? What if when the time comes you're not over it? Selflessness is all good until you find that you've given away everything you've ever wanted just for it to be flaunted in your face."

"I'll be fine. I'll find someone else," Elio lied. He couldn't muster up interest in anyone else right now.

"I hope so," his father said as they pulled into the driveway. "Are you going to tell your mother?"

"Yes. Tonight?" he asked, knowing that his father wouldn't answer that question for him.

"Whenever you want. Just as long as I don't have to start keeping secrets from her. She can see straight through me."

"Probably tonight then," Elio mumbled, stepping out of the warm car and into the biting cold night.

***

"Maman?" Elio called through the house. He walked into the library and found her sitting on the sofa with her feet curled up under her and a thick paperback book in her hands. She looked up at him as he came in. He strolled over to her and pulled the short footstool out from underneath the side table to sit near her. Upon sitting down, he slouched sideways and rested his head in her lap.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her hands immediately moving to stroke through his hair. She brushed it back from his forehead and he almost fell asleep on the spot.

"Nothing's wrong. Dad just told me to tell you something that I told him, because he wouldn't be able to keep it from you. You can see right through him, he said." She laughed gently at that, and Elio took it as a prompt to continue. There was no way to tell her now without being blunt about it. He couldn't conveniently slip it into conversation like he had with his father.

"I'm bisexual, Ma. I like boys," he said, turning his head slightly to catch her reaction. She stuck out her bottom lip slightly at how sudden the confession was, and then smiled warmly at him.

"Okay. I'm glad that you feel comfortable telling us. Is there anything else?" she asked, sensing that he had something else to tell. He was pleased with her reaction. If she had made a big deal about it in either a good or bad way, he wouldn't have known how to act. He was comfortable with her always-reliable calm manner. 

"I have other stuff that I want to talk to you about, but I can't talk any longer. I'm tired of talking. It's all I've done all day and I think I'm going to fall asleep," he yawned, closing his eyes as she stroked over his head once more and then standing up slowly to stretch. She didn't protest at him leaving her in the dark. He would talk when he wanted to. Elio leaned in to hug her and kiss her cheek, and then made his way upstairs to bed. As he brushed his teeth, he looked over everything that had happened that day. When he woke up that morning he hadn't expected to find himself in a weirdly intimate situation with Oliver, or to be arguing with Marzia about every fine detail of his hopeless situation, or to be out to his parents by the end of the night. It was only quarter to ten. He slept soundly that night, and if he had any dreams, he didn't remember them in the morning.


	4. Saboteur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charity work, Rabies, and a whole lot of anticipation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So its been over a month! Sorry about that. As it turns out, when life gives me lemons I procrastinate like it's an Olympic sport. If this chapter is a little less than coherent, I apologize. It did not go smoothly at all, but I'm pretty sure the next chapter will be out in record time because I actually have a plan for it. This is the part of the story where I realise I should have pre-written it to release on set dates but hey, you learn as you go. Thankyou for all the comments and kudos, I'm so glad you're enjoying this so far.

Weeks passed by, thawing the ice and snow and leaving nothing in their wake except grey sludge and grey sky and grey everything. Each day blended into the next and the next and the next with nothing notable to break up the monotony. As Elio predicted, after a few days his mortification at the way he had submitted to Oliver's care disappeared, leaving him alone with the desire to know Oliver better than he had ever known anyone, even perhaps himself. He wanted nothing but to be close to him, to be the object of his affection. Slowly and steadily, Elio was overcome with the ache that one feels when they are so close to something and yet millions of lightyears away, always wanting but never getting. He assumed that the week long break would have done him some good. Not having to consciously avoid Oliver in classes and hallways would make it easier to stop thinking about him for a while. A few days into the break, Elio felt no better. In fact, he felt worse. It was then that he remembered the phrase 'distance makes the heart grow fonder'. It plagued him until he returned to school, where his yearning was not tamed as it usually was by mundane conversation such as 'can I borrow an eraser' or by heated debates in lessons. In fact, when he returned to school, he was met with complete ignorance. Oliver didn't speak to him or look at him or anything. If Elio was the paranoid type, which of course he was, he would think that this was deliberate avoidance. It left him combing through every interaction they had had over the past few weeks, and he was left to contemplate everything that had occurred at that snowball fight. Again. Maybe Oliver had rethought the whole situation and only just noticed how Elio was hanging off of his every word and was disgusted by it, or maybe he could sense how much Elio had wanted him to keep his hands on him for a few more seconds, or minutes, or hours. Whatever it was, their interaction clearly did not break the ice like Elio had expected it to. It thickened it.

He wasn't an idiot. If Oliver was keeping his distance for whatever reason, Elio wouldn't go out of his way to speak to him. They didn't speak much before, anyway. He couldn't help but wish that he had kept Oliver's glove instead of giving it to Chiara. Maybe then he could have sparked up a conversation and displaced the awkwardness that he felt every time he was near Oliver. Thoughts like these, or more specifically thoughts of Oliver plagued him for weeks. In every quiet moment he was stressing about what Oliver thought of him, or what he could have done to avoid the lack of contact he was receiving. By March, the silence was deafening. Elio was thinking about Oliver yet again while he sat on the bleachers by the track with Chiara and Marzia. It was one of those cold days where the sky was a clear, shocking blue and the air was crisp and biting. He was lying down on one of the benches with one leg dangling off of the edge and a book held open above him blocking out the dazzling sun. Marzia sat by his head and Chiara sat by his feet. They were waiting for Stephen to finish his training session for Track. He and Marzia were a couple now, and from what Elio could gather they were great together. He had known from the start that Stephen couldn't be a complete asshole because if he was Marzia would never have taken him up on his offer for a date, but he had exceeded expectations so for. Elio was glad to see Marzia so happy, and he was glad that he hadn't been selfish enough to get with her to keep up appearances back when he had the chance. 

As for Chiara, Elio had no idea how successful she had been in her pursuit of Oliver. She didn't often speak to them about it, which was more worrying than anything because she would always fill them in on her romantic endeavours with previous boys, so he could only assume that she was actually taking Oliver seriously. As much as he wanted Chiara to be happy, the thought of her and Oliver together made Elio's throat tighten up and his stomach churn. He had a rather masochistic tendency to force himself to think about Chiara and Oliver as a couple until the edge was taken off, just to see how much he could take. Who knew? Maybe he would grow so used to the idea of them together that when it eventually happened, it wouldn't bother him as much. He was thinking about this when Chiara's voice broke him out of his trance.

"Oliver!" She shouted down to the bottom few benches of the bleachers. Oliver had just arrived to sit with a small group of friends. Elio lowered the book from above his head and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Oliver turned towards them at Chiara's shout and waved before making his way towards them. When he got close enough Elio made a show of opening up his book again and lying back down, trying to appear nonchalant while he completely disregarded the words on the page and waited for Oliver to speak.

"Hey! How are you?" Oliver exclaimed, obviously talking to Chiara. Elio was trying his hardest to read his book, but the words wouldn't stick. Oliver sat on the bench above them, and Chiara turned to face him.

"I'm great!" Chiara replied enthusiastically. "I have your glove. Elio left it in the pocket of one of his jackets that I borrowed." It was a decent excuse. She couldn't exactly tell him that Elio had given her the glove so she would have an opportunity to speak to him.

"Oh, right. Well thanks." He took the glove and put it in his own pocket without looking at it.

"It's clean by the way. I didn't think you'd appreciate the blood on it."

"Thanks," he said again, smiling warmly. He turned to Marzia, deeming it necessary to greet her too.

"Hi. Waiting for Stephen?" 

"Yeah. He'll be finished soon," she glanced down at her watch and then looked back up at him to smile politely.

"You two are good together. I've never seen him so happy." 

"Thanks," Marzia blushed, happy to hear the affirmation but finding it strange that so many people felt the need to congratulate her on a new relationship.

It was silent for a few seconds, and Elio wandered whether Oliver would actually choose to acknowledge him or not. He was still staring at the page above him while his heart hammered with anticipation. He felt something nudge his side and he nearly fell off of the bench. Oliver poked him in the side with his foot, apparently deciding that he wouldn't pretend that Elio didn't exist today.

"How's the lip?" He asked, grinning wickedly. No hello, just straight to teasing. Elio couldn't help but feel glad that there was no need for stiff, awkward greetings. He let his head loll to the side to stare up at Oliver, furrowing his brows in surprise that he had actually spoken to him. He didn't say anything back, just pulled on his bottom lip to reveal a small clustered scar on the inside of his mouth where the jagged wound had healed. He allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of Oliver staring at his mouth as he did when he originally wounded it, even if he wasn't staring for the reasons that Elio wished he would.

"No reconstructive surgery needed, then?" Oliver asked. His foot was still resting on the bench by Elio's ribs, and Elio could barely breathe in fear of accidentally touching Oliver despite it only being the toe of his shoe. 

"Nope. None at all. Although I'm sure you're a good enough surgeon to perform it, what with the qualifications from Grey's Anatomy and all," he quipped, carrying on the joke from their last encounter. Oliver just laughed and Elio forced himself to look back up at his book. Trying to force his gaze from Oliver's face, especially now that he was laughing, proved to be a difficult task. Chiara and Oliver continued to speak for a while longer about who knows what. Elio was too busy thinking about the fact that he had the power to make Oliver laugh. He was finally starting to regain the ability to read when Chiara asked Oliver if he was walking home with them. Adrenaline buzzed in him at the thought of it, and he couldn't decide if he dreaded the idea of it or welcomed it. 

"Yeah, I'll walk home with you. I think we go the same way anyway," Oliver answered. Elio's heart started to beat so hard that he was sure it was audible. He waited for everyone else to stand before sitting up and forcing himself to look down at his bag as he packed his book away instead of up at Oliver. He blocked the sun out with his hand a peered at the track where Stephen was waiting for them with his bag on his shoulder. They made their way down the stairs together and greeted Stephen before heading towards the school gates to leave. The happy couple walked hand in hand a few paces ahead, already engaged in their own private conversation while Chiara and Elio walked either side of Oliver behind them. They didn't speak at first, and the silence- interrupted by the scuffing of their feet- was somewhat awkward. Elio crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the floor as he walked, refusing to be the first to speak. If anything, he should have been walking behind them to let them speak alone rather than third-wheeling pathetically. he was just about to slow his pace to fall in behind them when Chiara spoke up. 

"Did you look into that movie I was talking about the other day?" She asked, and Elio wasn't sure if she was speaking to him until he looked over and saw her staring up at Oliver. Oh. So they had spoken about a movie together. When? Did they speak in person or did they text? Was it a date? his spiralling thoughts were interrupted by Oliver's reply.

"Yeah, it looks good. When's it on again?"

"Saturday night, Eight o'clock."

"Alright," Oliver turned his head to Elio unexpectedly. "Are you coming?" Elio stared at him wide-eyed for a second like a deer caught in headlights, and then looked past him at Chiara. She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something and then closed it again, tucking her tongue into her cheek. That told him all he needed to know.

"No, I'm alright thanks. I'm uh- I think I'm busy on Saturday," He lied, trying to find any plausible excuse. Surprisingly, it was Chiara that protested.

"Come on, it'll be fun! I'm sure your plans can wait for the weekend." Elio furrowed his eyebrows at her, confused at her sudden enthusiasm when a few moments ago she looked like she would attack him if he took up Oliver's offer. 

"Are you sure?" He persisted, trying his best to read her correctly so as to not put them all in an awkward situation. 

"Yes. You're coming and that's that," she insisted, and the smile on her face seemed genuine. Oliver was also smiling.

"Alright then."

"Marzia, Stephen, we're going to the theater on Saturday night. You coming?" Elio was glad that Chiara chose to invite them too. He would rather not be tagging along alone on a date between his best friend and the boy he liked. Marzia turned to them and then looked back up at Stephen with a silent inquiry.

"I'm not busy," he shrugged and then looked back at Chiara.

"Yeah, we'll come," Marzia smiled an then turned back to continue her conversation with Stephen.

They resumed their walk towards the exit of school grounds. Oliver and Chiara spoke more about the movie and travel plans and finishing times while Elio thought about all the awkward terrible things that could possibly happen on Friday night. As they passed the front of the school, a window was thrown open and someone called Elio's name. He stopped and turned on the spot, trying to find whoever had shouted for him. The Assistant Principal was leaning out of the her office window, beckoning for Elio to join her.

"Is Oliver with you too? I need to speak to both of you." He knew he had done nothing wrong, and yet he suddenly felt like a criminal. The fact that Oliver was also somehow involved made it twice as bad. He looked up at Oliver in a plea for guidance. Oliver looked just as confused but offered a small smile before making his way to the window with Elio following close behind. They both stood in silence, waiting for whatever was about to be said.

"Come into my office, I've got something to speak to you about," she said before moving away from the window, clearly expecting them to follow her instruction. Elio glanced back at their friends who were now stood in silence, waiting for Oliver and Elio to join them. He really did not want to be left alone with Oliver, who was now staring at him and clearly waiting for his input. He didn't give it.

"We should probably go and speak to her," Oliver said quietly, clasping his hands in front of himself awkwardly as if he was nervous too. Elio nodded. "You guys can go if you want. We have to go in," he shouted, jerking his thumb towards the office. Chiara looked disappointed, but she nodded and then started to walk away with Marzia and Stephen. 

"What did you do this time?" Elio joked, breaking the silence as they made their way into the building before it became awkward. Oliver let out a breathy laugh.

"What did _you_ do?" Elio didn't have time to answer as they turned the corner into the office. They stood before the desk until they were told to take their seats. Ms Erickson, the Assistant Principal, was kind yet authoritative young woman, liked by most students for her rationality and fair logic. Both Elio and Oliver remained silent, too confused to say anything.

"Sorry to keep you behind but I thought I might as well speak to you about it now. We're starting a programme for some of our higher ability students. We can sign you up for multiple charity events and opportunities that will give your college applications an edge. You two are on the list for students that we think should partake in the programme. What do you think?" She stared at them as if she expected an immediate response. Elio and Oliver turned to each other looking equally taken aback. Elio couldn't find any reason to turn down the offer. It would be very beneficial, and it's not like he didn't have the time. However, he did think that it would make sense for students with less to offer to be given this opportunity. Shouldn't the playing field be levelled? He voiced his opinion.

"It sounds good, but why are we being offered the program? Higher ability students already have better chances with colleges, why do we need something else to put us further above everyone else? Isn't that unfair for other students trying to get decent college placements?" Ms Erickson didn't seem fazed. 

"I know, but I don't have much say in the matter. I didn't design the programme and I don't control it."

"Alright then." He was still wary. 

"What kind of charity work?" Oliver asked when no one spoke for a while.

"Well the first event is on Friday. Sorry about it being such short notice, but I only got told about it this morning. A group of people are getting sponsored by friends and family to go sleep out on the Walmart parking lot. The money they raise is going to a charity for homeless people. The charity set up the event, so its official and the parking lot will be blocked off for safety. If you want to join you'll have to bring in this permission slip by Friday morning," she handed them both a slip of paper. "It starts at Six pm with some kind of fundraising fair. Apparently there'll be food, games, live entertainment, the lot, but you don't really have to be there til' Ten if you're sleeping. The whole point of it is to sleep out in the cold to experience what homeless people go through every night, I guess. You can bring food, blankets, sleeping bags tents, whatever." Oliver looked at her with a look of confusion on his face.

"If it's meant to teach you what homeless people go through each night, why are people taking food and tents?" Elio could see his point. It would just be like a very comfortable camping trip.

"I don't know, but I'll be out there and I'm not bringing a tent. Defeats the purpose if you ask me. It all seems very flawed and rushed to me, but it _is_ the first year doing this, I expect it will get better as time goes on. Anyway, will I see you there or not?" Elio and Oliver looked across at each other once again as if they were waiting for the other to make the decision for them. Elio made up his mind.

"Yeah, sure. I'll be there. This needs to be back by Friday morning right?" He asked, showing her the permission slip before folding it and tucking it into the front pocket of his bag.

"Yeah, Friday," she replied, and then looked over at Oliver. "You?"

"Um, yeah. Why not?"

"Exactly, why not? Alright, you can go now," she gestured to the office door before pulling a pulling her laptop towards her and opening it. Oliver and Elio left without another word. Oliver swung his bag on his shoulder as they stepped out into the school grounds. Elio realised that they would probably have to walk together for some time, as Oliver had said earlier that he walked the same way as Chiara, and therefore also Elio. He thought about the possibility of awkward silences and accidentally brushing hands and his mind went into overdrive. Another possibility, perhaps an even worse one, would be Oliver doing something to cause Elio to like him even more than he already did. If Elio was being honest, anything Oliver did would make him more appealing. That's how hopelessly enticed he was by him. He was trying to find any excuse to walk home a different way when Oliver spoke up.

"It is a bit ridiculous, isn't it?" Elio had no idea what he was talking about. He stared up at Oliver with obvious confusion in his brow. "The whole programme thing. We already have the upper hand." Elio had completely forgotten about the programme. He was too busy fretting over the walk ahead.

"Yeah, I know," he answered dumbly, unable to find anything else to contribute to the topic. 

"I like the way you actually care about things," Oliver said with a tone of admiration in his voice. "You don't just ignore what you don't like. You argue about stuff and you'll debate about it. And you're almost always right," he elbowed him in a joking manner at the last part. Elio's face was growing redder and hotter with every word. The compliment had come out of nowhere and it would have been nice from anyone else but from Oliver? Sweeter words had never been spoken. He felt warm and light with the praise. 

"But you're always opposing my points. Why would you like that I'm argumentative if I'm always arguing with _you_. Do you _want_ me to prove you wrong?" Elio asked incredulously. 

"I don't disagree with you that often actually, you're just interesting when you're passionate." Those words did something to Elio. If he _really_ wanted to see him passionate... But no. He promised himself time and time again he wouldn't think like that. 

"Hey, when we last spoke you said _I_ find any opportunity to argue with you but you just admitted that you like it when I argue."

"Well then, I guess we're both as bad as each other then," Oliver laughed, and Elio elbowed him in return from when he had done it previously. 

"And you just said that I'm interesting when I'm passionate. Do I bore you when I'm normal?" He said it in a mocking tone, but he was truly terrified of the answer.

"No, of course not. Well actually, the only time we speak is when we find a topic we disagree on when we're in English class. I don't know what you're like when you're normal. When you're not arguing I mean."

"Why do we always end up talking about arguing when we speak?" Elio wondered out loud.

"It's just our common ground I guess. It's what we're always doing."

"Hm. Well I'm glad we don't actually hate each other," he muttered, and then laughed a little when he remembered their last conversation in the snow. "You said that to me last time we spoke." After he said it he realised that it might seem strange that he remembered that little detail from weeks ago.

"So we're always either arguing or repeating the same conversation," Oliver chuckled, and Elio laughed in reply. They fell into a comfortable silence after that, but only for a short period of time. Other worries reached the forefront of Elio's mind.

"Are you sure it shouldn't be just you and Chiara on Saturday night?" Elio asked in a timid voice, not sure whether it was his place to say anything. Oliver was quiet for a second.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'd rather go out with her and other friends first before I actually go on a date with her. You know, just get more comfortable or whatever."

"Okay. I'm glad you're speaking though. Um," Elio searched for the first neutral phrase that people usually use when talking about relationships. "You suit each other." Oliver was silent. He hoped he didn't offend him somehow. He was lying, of course. He couldn't knew if they suited each other because he had never seen them together other than their short walk out of school earlier where they talked about going to see the movie. 

"Do you think you'll be able to go to that charity thing on Friday?" Oliver asked. "I'd rather know now so I don't end up alone."

"Probably. I don't see why not."

"Let me give you my phone number so you can tell me when you find out." Of course, Elio's heart picked up pace at this. He fumbled to pull his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Oliver, who submitted his name and number to Elio's contacts while they continued to walk steadily. 

"Well I live down here so," Oliver tailed off.

"Oh, right. See you tomorrow then."

"Bye." With that he turned into a cul-de-sac and turned to wave once while Elio continued down the road. For the rest of the walk home, Elio was surprisingly a lot more calm than he had been after any other time he came into contact or even spoke about Oliver. He couldn't help but feel like that was an achievement. However, looking into the future was a different story. Excitement and trepidation filled him with adrenaline every time he imagined having to spend more time with Oliver. There was the charity event, where they would have to spend the whole night together, the movie they were all going to watch, and the prospect of other charity events in the future where they would be forced together. His parents signed his permission slip that night and were the first to sign the list of sponsors, promising to donate to the charity. Elio realised with a huff that he would have to get other people to sponsor him to make as much money as possible. He texted Oliver that night, telling him that he had the go-ahead for Friday. The reply was plain and simple: "Good. Me too." and yet seeing a notification with Oliver's name on it filled him with adrenaline.

Over the next few days, it became something of a competition between Elio and Oliver to collect as many signatures as possible. Oliver's popularity due to, well, everything about him gave him the upper hand at first, but the fact that Elio had known most of his peers since childhood proved to be helpful. They compared lists whenever they got the chance. As they passed each other in the corridor one afternoon, Elio called out to him.

"How many you got, Goodman?" He smirked.

"Nineteen, you?"

"Twenty-nine," he answered, turning to walk backwards so he could see Oliver's reaction.

"Shit," he cursed quietly pulling the sheet of paper out of his pocket as Elio turned to walk normally again. Oliver would have to double his efforts. The following day they reviewed their progress again in English class while everyone was settling in.

"Forty-five," Oliver said with a cocky grin on his face, waving the form in front of Elio's face as he passed him on his way to his seat. Elio snatched it from his hand and stared at it in disbelief while Oliver laughed. He huffed and threw the paper back at him. He was determined to win this little game they were playing. By Friday morning, Elio had seventy-eight signatures. Most of the people who had given their signature only promised a dollar, but the few people actually interested in donating to the cause pitched in more than enough. Something told him that seventy-eight signatures wouldn't be enough to beat Oliver, so he spent the day frantically trying to find people to sign. He asked the shopkeeper of a little convenience store that he visited before making his way to school in the morning. He asked teachers after lessons. The bet between Elio and Oliver had become a Thing. People either picked a side or completely avoided them. Elio cornered a group of band kids on his way to lunch who already knew the deal. 

"Literally just like fifty cents. I don't mind how much. You know what they say, every penny counts." He knew he sounded like a desperate idiot, but he was too competitive to care. He was about to hand over a pen for them to sign with when it was plucked out of his hand, along his piece of paper. Oliver bumped him to the side with his hip and monopolised the conversation, offering his sponsor sheet over instead. The group of friends looked baffled but also too indifferent to protest.. They took the sheet and began to fill it in. Meanwhile, Oliver had his forearm across Elio's chest, who was scrabbling fiercely to get his paper back as Oliver laughed. 

"God, Oliver! Why are you so annoying? Give me the paper you piece of shit," Elio was reaching in vain for his belongings. Oliver moved his arm from across Elio's chest and instead used both of his arms to hold Elio behind his back, blocking him from view. Elio was furious at Oliver's sabotage, but he was also thrilled with the feeling of Oliver's hands on his arms holding him back. He was held close to Oliver's back, close enough to smell him and feel the warmth radiating off of him. What he wouldn't give to stop fighting and just lay his forehead against the nape of Oliver's neck. He tried to shove him to the side but he was steadfast. He poked him in the ribs and although he twitched and batted Elio's hand away, he still didn't release him. He couldn't stop himself from admiring Oliver's strength, even if it was being used against him. He was still laughing at Elio's attempts to break free.

"I swear to God I will bite you! I will literally bite you if you don't let me go!" Elio wasn't sure if that was a lie or not. He was wracking his brain to find any way to make Oliver let him go.

"You won't bite me." Oliver seemed too sure of this fact. Elio was wondering whether he should prove him wrong or not.

"Wanna bet?" 

"Yeah. You're not gonna bite me." Elio could hear the grin in his voice. His own sponsor sheet was tucked into Oliver's front pocket so that Oliver could use both hands to restrain Elio. Elio eyed it and then made a quick decision. He leaned forward towards Oliver's shoulder and whispered "Wrong" before biting him to prove the point. Oliver's hands loosened in surprise and Elio took the opportunity to wriggle free and snatch his piece of paper from his pocket. He elbowed the tyrant in his ribs, pushing him to the side and regaining his audience, holding out the piece of paper once more. 

"I got here first. You have to sign mine," he insisted, slightly out of breath from his escape. They rolled their eyes at his theatrics, a few of them laughing, and signed his sheet too. Elio glanced over at Oliver. He was staring at him with a wide, incredulous smile and eyes bright with humour. 

"You bit me!"

"I warned you first."

"Feral. Absolutely feral," Oliver shook his head in mock disapproval as Elio glared at him, trying and failing to hold back a laugh. His sheet was handed back to him and he thanked the group before making his way to the cafeteria. He heard Oliver's following footsteps. 

"I'll do it again," Elio warned, turning his head. Oliver fell into stride alongside him, offering Elio his pen back. 

"Yeah I don't doubt it. You don't happen to have rabies do you? It was quite a nasty bite," Oliver tried to look over his shoulder to where Elio bit him. 

"As a matter of fact, I do. You'll be dead in a couple of days," Elio said with the sweetest smile he could muster. "Now, do you have any funeral song preferences? I'm thinking something loud and obnoxious to match you, of course."

"Ah, my rabid little friend," Oliver lamented, throwing an arm over Elio's shoulders in the way one does to a shorter person, just to be extremely annoying. Elio wished it annoyed him. Instead, he felt warm and safe and small and he never wanted to leave Oliver's embrace. He regretfully ducked out from under his arm and attempted to trip Oliver up by kicking one of his feet behind the other.

"Violence never got anyone anywhere, Elio," Oliver chastised. Elio felt a tug in his chest when his name left those lips. 

"It's worth a try, though," Elio sighed, turning to enter the cafeteria and heading towards the table where Marzia, Chiara and Stephen were already seated. Oliver continued to follow him and Elio began to fear that he would sit with them. His fears were confirmed when Oliver sank down into a seat across from him, next to Chiara. They were greeted warmly, Oliver more so by Chiara. Before anyone had a chance to start a conversation, Oliver spoke up.

"Elio bit me," he said, putting on an exaggerated pout. A pout that Elio fell in love with immediately. He would die happy if he could kiss the pout off of those lips at least once. 

"Jesus Christ. Throw this one back in Chiara, you've caught a whiner," Elio joked, heart sinking when he realised that he had just acknowledged the fact that there was something going on between Chiara and Oliver publicly. He wasn't sure if they wanted to make whatever was happening official, and he was internally kicking himself as the silence stretched on for just a second too long. Chiara didn't let it go on for any longer, thankfully.

"You bit him?" She snorted, raising her eyebrows. 

"He started it. He _physically restrained me_ ," he tried to put as much indignation into it as possible, "and then said that I wouldn't bite him." Oliver just grinned at the accusation. 

"Children. My friends are literal children." Chiara shook her head and took a sip of water. Elio didn't miss the fact that she had just referred to Oliver as a friend. Marzia slid a piece of pizza over to Elio, who looked at her with a question in his eyes.

"I'm not hungry. You must be though," she waited for a second while Elio furrowed his brow. "I mean, you bit Oliver." The group sniggered and Elio rolled his eyes.

"Very funny. It was self defence," He glared at his friends, taking a bite of the pizza. 

"How many signatures do you have now?" Stephen asked, putting his arm around Marzia.

"Eighty-three," Elio said, swallowing a bite of pizza. "But the day isn't done. I'll get more." He was sure of it. He looked pointedly at Oliver.

"Oh," he fumbled for his sheet of signatures. "Eighty-one. Watch your back."

"What, are you gonna attack me again?" Elio wasn't letting it go.

"We'll just have to wait and see."

"Saboteur." Elio murmured. He left the conversation to the rest of the table after that, focusing on eating Marzia's pizza. When the bell rang for the end of lunch, he was more than ready to get home. He dragged himself through the remainder of the day and rejoiced at the prospect of the weekend as he stood at the front of the school building, waiting for his friends to join him. Marzia came out first. 

"No Stephen?" He asked, looking towards the doors for him.

"No, he's staying behind for some Track stuff today. I have to get home to look after my sisters." Elio nodded and they settled into a companionable silence for a while until Marzia spoke again.

"You bit him?" She whispered loudly as if it was a secret. He stared at her, confused as to why he was bringing it back up. 

"Yes, I bit him. Not hard enough, apparently, because it didn't stop him from acting up." She didn't reply, just continued to look at him strangely. 

"God, don't make it weird. He had my hands held down and he told me that I wouldn't bite him. You know what I'm like, if you tell me I won't do something it makes me want to do it!"

"He had your hands held down?"

"Yes," Elio replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Right, just go through everything that happened because I feel like I'm missing a lot."

He explained the situation, and with each word Marzia's smirk grew wider and wider. 

"Stop that, it's weird," Elio scowled at her.

"Sounds like flirting if you ask me," she teased. "Classic yank of the pigtails situation." Elio rolled his eyes despite his heart swooping at the statement. That wasn't allowed. It wasn't true and even if it was, it wasn't allowed. Oliver only flirted with Chiara. He was going to date Chiara.

"Marzia," he warned. "Don't."

"I know, I know, but..." she seemed like she was going to carry on, but she sighed and gave up. "Alright"

"Thank you." Elio crossed his arms and resumed his surveillance of the school grounds, searching for Chiara. She emerged from the thin crowd with Oliver.

"For fuck's sake," he murmured, ducking his head and toeing at the dirt on the ground before looking up and plastering on a smile just as Chiara and Oliver spotted them and approached. They said a few words of greeting before the four of them began their walk home. They all walked together at first, keeping up an easy conversation until the paths started to narrow and they were forced to walk in pairs. Now, it would have made perfect sense for Chiara and Oliver to walk together, seeing as they were talking or dating or whatever, Elio didn't care. However, sense went out of the window apparently as Elio got stuck walking with Oliver. Somehow, it wasn't awkward. They swayed a bit, trying to bump each other out of the way. Elio made a notable attempt to shove Oliver off the curb but he wasn't having it. So this is what their friendship was reduced to. Insults, shoving, mock camaraderie and the occasional spontaneous kind-of-compliment. Very 'bro'. Well, at least it was clear where they stood.

"So, what time are going tonight?" Oliver asked. "I'd rather not be stranded by myself for however long."

"Probably about eight."

"Alright. You taking anything?"

"Probably just a blanket, some money maybe. I'll buy something if I get hungry."

"Hmm. Good idea."

They passed Chiara's house first. When she left Marzia squeezed onto the path beside Elio because he didn't want her to feel left out walking ahead or behind. Oliver left next, turning off into his cul-de-sac with a "see you tonight," shouted to Elio and a wave for Marzia. It was silent for a few minutes until Marzia hugged Elio's arm and sighed.

"Do you think tonight is gonna be shit?"

"I don't know. Probably," he predicted. Hopefully he would find something safe to talk about with Oliver. 

"Well if it's absolutely terrible you can avoid him the whole time and just call me," she patted his arm.

"Thanks." He shoved his free hand in his pocket and bit his cheek in anticipation of what was to come. 


	5. Crappy White Plastic Chairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two completely oblivious idiots in a Walmart parking lot.
> 
> *Mention of a dead parent/cancer. It's not really graphic or anything but it gets kind of heavy. I completely understand if you don't want to read anything potentially upsetting. That paragraph is marked with asterisks (***) before and after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I said updated in record time... I do have a pretty much solid plan for the next two chapters, so they shouldn't take too long. It's so encouraging to see that you're glad this is back! Alternating POV for this chapter. Also, I'm so sorry that their thoughts and feelings are painfully ironic, but it just means that eventually when they stop being complete idiots it'll be even more satisfying. You'll just have to stick around to find out ;).

Elio was sat in one of those crappy white plastic chairs in the back corner of the Walmart parking lot by 7:52. It was dark out already. The lot had been filled with tents selling drinks and fast food trucks and whatever those other tent stalls were. He didn't know, he hadn't explored it yet. There were multicoloured lights hanging from tent to tent, and there was the distinct sound of music over the din of chatter. He had seen the vice principal to notify her of his attendance as requested on the permission slip and then found somewhere as far from the action as possible. He was trying to stay out of everyone's way, hence his seat at a table away from the hustle and bustle. The table was crappy and white and plastic to match the chair. He was kicking the leg of it absentmindedly, watching the ashtray slide about when his phone lit up with a notification. 

**Oliver:** Where are you?

Elio's heart raced. He looked towards the epicentre of the event, as if he would be able to pick Oliver out from the throngs of people.

**Elio:** Back left corner. I'm sitting at one of the tables.

A few moments later, a figure broke away from the crowd and made its way towards Elio. Oliver kept his head down until he was close enough for Elio to be able to hear him speak. Elio didn't mind. With his head down, Oliver wouldn't be able to see the way that he stared.

"Hi," Oliver waved when he was within a few steps of the table. He dragged another plastic chair out to Elio's side, dumped his backpack onto the floor, and then sank down into the seat as if he had been walking for hours. He was silent for a while, and Elio allowed it. 

"How long have you been here?" Oliver asked, finally turning to look at Elio, who picked up his phone to check the time. It was 8:03.

"About fifteen minutes. I accidentally got here early."

"Oh. Sorry I kept you waiting."

"S'fine. I don't mind," In fact, it was nice to have some time to get his bearings and mentally prepare himself before he was submitted to Oliver's inescapable company for the night. Not that he minded Oliver's company, he just wasn't sure that he could stand a whole twelve hours or so without doing something he would regret. "Did you tell Ms Erickson that you're here?"

Oliver nodded. "Have you been over there?" He jutted his chin in the general direction of the rows of stalls. 

"No, I dodged it and came straight over here." He pulled one knee up underneath his chin and hugged his leg to his body. He didn't like the subtle mood that had settled over them for no apparent reason. He hoped the rest of the night's conversation wouldn't be so taciturn. Oliver turned his head towards Elio's movement. 

"Are you cold?" he asked with a little more warmth than he had spoken with before. 

"Only a little bit," Elio shrugged.

"Lets walk a bit. It'll keep us warm." Oliver stood up with a huff and reached out a hand to pull Elio up. He took it and let it go just as quickly after he was upright. He wished he didn't have to. Oliver's hand was warm and big and Elio would stand all the cold if he could only hold Oliver's hand. Just for a little while. Please.

They picked up their bags and strolled slowly to the centre of the parking lot. Elio buried his hands in his pockets and clenched them into fists, fighting off the chilly night air and the desire to 'accidentally' let his knuckles brush against Oliver's. The first stall they came across was selling coffee and tea in paper cups. The next was selling an array of Polish food. There were a few stalls set up for games along the lines of hook-a-duck and darts and other typical fundraising activities. Elio wouldn't be surprised if there was a charity raffle. People really needed to start thinking of new ways to rake in money at these kind of events. 

"Are you hungry?" Oliver asked as they passed a food truck. 

"No, I ate before I left," and then thinking it polite: "are you?"

"No, I already ate too."

They strolled for a while longer until they reached the end of the first row of stalls. Oliver stopped and turned towards him.

"Are you okay?" He asked, concern accenting his voice. The first answer that came to Elio's mind was yes, but there was a weight in his chest that had been sitting there since he first arrived, alone. Oliver would see through a 'yes'. So he went for something else.

"I'm just tired I guess," he yawned, rubbing the back of his hand into his eye for effect. Oliver didn't say anything. He stuck his bottom lip out slightly in deliberation. Elio turned to carry on walking but Oliver grabbed his wrist and turned him back. 

"I'm not an idiot. What's wrong?" He was still holding Elio's wrist. Damn him for having basic emotional intelligence. He couldn't give him a reason. He couldn't come out and say 'Sorry I'm a bit quiet tonight, I'm trying not to fall love with you because my friend called shotgun and it aches a little bit. Please keep your distance because if you come any closer I might wrap myself around you and never let go. Oh, and for goodness sake let go of my wrist because if you keep touching me I won't be able to get the feeling of you off of my skin.' No, he couldn't say all of that. 

"It's nothing much. I just can't really talk about it." Oliver scoffed.

"It's _something._ Enough of a something to bother you."

"Really, I can't talk about it. I'll be fine in a while. I'll probably forget about it." There was no way he could forget about it while spending the whole night with it. Oliver still seemed unsure but he let it go.

"Fine." He finally let go of Elio's wrist. "Let's get churros," he said, traipsing off to the nearest stall and looking at Elio over his shoulder with a wide grin. Elio expected that it was an attempt to make him feel better despite the fact that they had both already eaten, but he didn't mention it. They continued their tour of the parking lot, churros in hand. 

"So you can't tell me about it?" Oliver asked out of nowhere a few minutes later. Elio rolled his eyes.

"No. I thought we had stopped talking about it. No offence, but we barely know each other. If I was looking for comfort I would probably go to someone I'm a lot more familiar with."

Oliver shrugged. "Sometimes its good to confide in people you don't know that well. Then you don't care as much if they judge you." Elio almost laughed at how wrong he was in this situation. He was terrified of Oliver's judgement. 

"I know you well enough to care. Would you judge me?" Oliver frowned, apparently thinking it over.

"We all have our secrets. I can't think of anything bad enough that I would judge you for it."

"It was only hypothetical, I'm still not telling you, and anyway, I didn't say that the reason I can't tell you is because it's embarrassing. I'm not telling you because it could be harmful to myself and others." Mostly others. He had Chiara in mind. He found it somewhat funny that Oliver was trying to get to the bottom of it without even knowing that he _was_ the bottom of it. He would probably be a bit taken aback if Elio gushed about his feelings for him. Maybe he would be disgusted. Well that thought took the humour out of the situation. "Look, I'm fine. There's nothing that can be done about it, so it's best to just forget about it."

"Alright." Oliver sighed, but Elio could tell that that wasn't the last of it. However, he didn't expect what came next in the slightest. "Is it about a girl? A guy?" _Of course_ his mind would go straight to relationship issues.

Elio did his best not to choke. If he had left it at 'girl' he would have been fine, but the continuation made his stomach drop. Was it obvious? Did Marzia tell him? She wouldn't. "A _guy?_ "

"Oh, sorry if I offended you. I just didn't want to assume."

"No, no, I'm not offended." Elio was attempting to regain his composure. 

"Good. Well is it?" Oliver persevered with his question.

"No. I've already told you I can't talk about it. Stop trying to guess."

"Okay, fine. I'll actually stop this time."

" _Thank_ you," Elio exaggerated. He searched for any excuse to change the topic. "They sure do love to get kids into gambling early," he joked, reading the rules on the side of a hook-a-duck stand.

"Gotta start them off somewhere," Oliver said. Elio laughed quietly.

"Do you wanna go in? It's getting colder and there's not much else to see out here," Elio asked, looking towards the entrance of the store. 

"Yeah, sure."

They passed a cluster of small camping tents as they got closer to the entrance of the store. They were decked out with thick blankets and sleeping bags and even a few air mattresses. "I can't believe some people literally brought air mattresses. I thought the whole point was to sleep rough for the night. Doesn't look very rough to me," Oliver huffed as soon as they were far away enough from the impromptu campsite. Elio laughed, looking back over his shoulder. 

As their conversation waned, Elio came to the realisation that he had neither confirmed or denied Oliver's assumption or lack thereof earlier. Dread settled in his stomach. Had he just accidentally come out to Oliver? Was he overthinking it? Was Oliver thinking about it? Shit.

***

**Oliver's POV**

Shit. He hadn't said yes. He hadn't said no, either. Did Elio realise that he was subtly trying to figure out his sexuality? He couldn't ask again, then he would definitely realise it. His palms were sweating as he dropped the paper bag that the churros had come in into a trash can. He crossed his arms over his chest and wiped them discreetly on the sleeves of his coat. As they entered the store, the bright, artificially white light hit him, almost blinded him.

"Anything in mind?" He asked, turning to Elio who shrugged and took in their surroundings. His nose and cheeks were tinged pink with the cold and he had tucked his hands under his armpits to keep them warm. Christ. Could you give someone a coat platonically? Oliver decided that in that moment he didn't care too much. It wasn't even a romantic gesture, he just felt bad watching Elio shiver while he himself was perfectly warm. He started to shrug off his coat and then held it out to Elio, who looked thoroughly confused.

"Why are you giving me your coat?" He asked as if his teeth weren't on the verge of chattering.

"Because I'd rather give you my coat than listen to you complain about being cold." Oliver had to say something slightly mean to balance out the act of kindness. 

"First of all, rude. Second of all, I wasn't complaining. Not a word of complaint left my mouth." The coat was still hanging from Oliver's outstretched hand between them. 

"Okay, just take the coat." Elio looked hesitant. He looked around them at the people milling around the store. Nobody was looking at them. Nobody cares. "It's just a coat, Elio. It won't bite. You're cold, take it." He thrust the coat towards him and then crossed his arms so Elio couldn't give it back. Elio huffed and shrugged it on. He wasn't particularly short. In fact, he was quite tall in comparison to others but he was most definitely not as broad as Oliver was. It made him look small and cosy and Oliver wanted to wrap his arms around him and kiss his pink nose and warm his cheeks with his hands. He had gotten better at handling thoughts like those over the past few months. Actually to be truthful, he hadn't. He had just stopped punishing himself for them. He realised that he couldn't repress them; they just fought harder to reach the surface. He allowed the thoughts and feelings to wash over him and had somewhat made peace with it. It would be fine as long as he didn't let them show. As long as he didn't act on them.

"It's warm," Elio said as they started wandering down the aisles. Oliver let out a breathy laugh. 

"What an absolutely ground-breaking observation. It's a _coat,"_ Oliver teased. Elio mumbled something under his breath and swerved sideways, sending Oliver sprawling into a shelf crammed with boxes of cereal. He caught himself and laughed at Elio, who continued walking without even looking back. Oliver caught up with him, still smiling.

"Stop smiling before..."

"Before what?" Oliver asked, trying not to laugh at the angry little pout Elio was sporting. Fuck, he was cute.

"You'll find out if you carry on," he grumbled, trying his best to look threatening while drowning in Oliver's coat.

"You have quite a violent disposition, you know."

"No I don't, you're just really good at being annoying. You have an annoying disposition." They turned into another aisle.

"It's an acquired skill." Oliver turned to a shelf of water bottles. He deliberated for a second, letting the conversation pause, and then picked up a four-pack. "Why didn't you bring a coat?" He looked at Elio, glancing at the black hoodie peeping out from beneath the his own coat.

"I brought a sleeping bag," Elio replied, proudly patting his backpack over his shoulder, as if that answered the question.

"Were you planning on walking around Walmart with a sleeping bag on?" 

"No, idiot. I brought it to sleep with, obviously. I thought I would be fine with just a hoodie 'cause we're walking around." Oliver shook his head and decided to diverge from the coat conversation.

"Do you think you'll actually sleep tonight?" 

"I don't know." Elio paused to think it over. "Probably not. It feels weird to sleep in a parking lot full of people that I don't know."

"Don't worry, I'll tell them that you're a biter. They won't bother you then." He expected another shove but Elio just rolled his eyes and laughed. He was over it apparently.

"You're the one I bit and yet you're still bothering me."

"Sorry, would you rather walk around alone for the night?" Elio looked at him pointedly, as if he knew that he wouldn't leave. He was right, he wouldn't leave. Elio made it damn near impossible to leave.

"I probably won't sleep tonight either." He thought about how tired he was going to be tomorrow. It was probably going to fuck up his sleeping habits. Then he remembered their plans to go to the theatre tomorrow. "Shit, we're going to be dead on our feet by tomorrow night. We're meant to be going to see that movie, remember." A look of dread crossed Elio's face.

"God, I'm gonna be so out of it," Elio predicted, running his hand through his hair and looking as if he was regretting everything already. Oliver presumed that Elio would either be ridiculously cute when he was sleepy or ridiculously grumpy. Perhaps it would be both, because somehow Oliver's mind found everything that Elio did endearing. "I'm just going to have to sleep through the day and wake up before we go. Do you think Chiara would kill me if I don't go?" 

"I don't know," _But I might_. He felt bad for thinking it, because he was meant to be there for Chiara, but he imagined that tomorrow night would be a lot less interesting if Elio wasn't there. "She seemed pretty adamant. It'll be fine, just sleep all day and I'll call you before we go tomorrow to make sure you're awake." Oliver's heart fluttered at the idea of calling Elio, although he was literally stood right next to him at that moment. 

"Alright," Elio still seemed wary. They continued on their journey through the harshly lit Walmart talking about whatever came to mind. Elio pulled a foam sword out from a box in the children's toy aisle and whacked Oliver with it. They made fools of themselves for the next ten minutes after that, but they didn't care too much.

**Elio's POV**

Elio had been terrified earlier that spending so much time alone with Oliver would increase the risk of him falling impossibly more in love. No, not love. _Like._ Falling in like. Love was big and scary and he was too young and they barely knew each other and... Anyway, he was right. It had increased the risk. In fact, at this very moment he was free falling and there was no parachute but there was also no floor. There didn't seem to be a bottom to this pit. There had to be. He would hit the floor eventually, and at the speed he was going it would shatter him into millions of tiny little shards. He had to slow down somehow, had to stop himself so that when he hit the ground, he could get back up and dust himself off. In other words, when Chiara and Oliver were finally together, or when Oliver discovered that Elio had feelings for him and was disgusted, or whenever something else went wrong, he would have to be okay with it. He would have to survive it, because the alternative was... well he didn't know what the alternative was. He had never been in a situation like this before, and he would rather French kiss a blender than get into one like it again.

They had been round the entire store. Elio was finally warm, thanks to Oliver's gargantuan coat. He was considering giving it back, but it smelled like Oliver and it was the closest he could get to a hug from him. There was a voice in the back of his head telling him that everyone was judging him for wearing Oliver's coat, and judging Oliver for giving it to him. He pushed it as far back as it would go. No one cared. No one noticed. Everyone was outside, they couldn't see him. On the topic of the coat, Elio had to acknowledge that it was weird. This wasn't a very 'bro' thing to do. It wasn't typically a platonic thing to do. It was a classic rom-com move. Girl gets cold. Boy gives girl coat. Boy and girl live happily ever after. Perhaps he was so deep in the friendzone that Oliver didn't even realise the implications of this coat-lending situation. Or maybe Oliver was just so empathetic that he was willing to give up his coat despite the implications just so Elio, his friend and _only_ his friend, wouldn't freeze. God, why did Oliver have to make everything so confusing.

They payed for the four-pack of water that Oliver picked up and left, stepping back out into the cold air.

"Do you want your coat back?" Elio asked timidly. Apparently he was shy now.

"No, I'm good." Oliver smiled warmly and then looked at his own coat smothering Elio.

They made their way back to the fleet of shitty plastic tables and chairs, where literally no one was sat except for some tired-looking, skinny, middle-aged man smoking a cigarette. They walked past him, disrupting the thin tendril of grey smoke that snaked its way up to the sky, illuminated by the yellowish-orange glare of the streetlamps. Oliver put the bottles of water down on the same table that Elio had been sat at and then slumped down into a chair. He turned his head to the sky, which was swirling with fast moving clouds at that moment. No stars to be seen. Elio didn't look up. He looked at the way Oliver's throat elongated, skin pulled taut over his Adam's apple. The way his chin and jaw claimed attention, as strong and well-built as they were. His cheeks and ears started to burn, so he averted his gaze and moved to sit in the seat beside Oliver.

"It'd be just our luck if it rained," Oliver sighed, finally looking away from the night sky. Elio relaxed a little bit. His hands stopped clenching with the desire to reach out and touch his jaw, his throat, his lips which were parted slightly. Don't touch what's not yours. If you break it you'll have to pay for it.

"Hm. What time is it?" He could have checked his own phone, but that would have meant digging it out from underneath the puffy ass coat. Well, it wasn't excessively puffy, it just didn't fit Elio.

"Nine-twenty three. Sick of me already?" Elio sighed and let his head fall backwards before rolling it to the side to look at Oliver sarcastically.

"Oh, absolutely." He picked his head back up and grinned.

"Shut up," Oliver rolled his eyes and pulled the hood of the coat over Elio's head, blinding him momentarily. He fumbled with it, trying to free his face again but ending up with a mouthful of synthetic hair from the trim of the hood.

Oliver laughed as Elio grimaced and pulled a hair from his mouth. He ripped the shrink-wrap plastic off of the bottles of water and offered one to Elio, taking one for himself. They drank in silence for a while, but it wasn't awkward. The skinny middle-aged man was still sat at his table.

"So you live with your grandma?" Oliver furrowed his brow at the sudden unexpected question.

"Yep. Best place for me." Elio frowned, clearly waiting for him to continue. He didn't want to seem rude, but he was wondering what could be so bad about his parents that he didn't live with them. Oliver continued.

"Mom's dead." Elio almost flinched at how much those words didn't seem to bother Oliver. It must have been a while, then. "Dad's a rich, prestigious businessman and an asshole. I'm not the kind of son he wanted, so he doesn't love me, I guess." He paused to look at Elio and then upon seeing the questioning look on his face, continued. "If he does love me, he has a funny way of showing it. I don't care much anymore. I don't want his love. It's not worth shit." There was a glint of ice and steel in those eyes that were normally so serenely blue. Elio had never seen him angry. However, he didn't stay angry for long. He met Elio's eyes again and immediately seemed warmer, more familiar. Elio wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Was your mom nice when she was alive?" Elio felt safe asking. Oliver didn't seem too affected when he had mentioned her before.

*****

"From what I can remember, yes. I was seven when she died and I blocked a lot of it out I guess. It was cancer. Of course it was. Classic sob story. Found out when I was six and then she just kind of deteriorated over the next year. I really don't remember much. You know how it is when you're a kid, you block out what you don't want to hear or see. I'm kind of glad, though. I don't remember her looking sick. I don't remember the hospice bed. I don't even really remember the funeral. I only remember the parts where she was still well enough to play with me. I'm thankful for that. I can have good stuff to look back on rather than, you know, depressing shit. I prefer to remember her as happy and healthy. Maybe that's selfish of me." He paused for a moment, staring at his hands. His knee was bouncing rapidly. "This is going to sound really stupid and cliché, but she's still here, in a way. Not that 'always in our hearts and minds' bullshit. I mean I still learn new stuff about her all the time. I find her old stuff and I'm told stories about her. There's so much that I don't know about her. It's kind of like a puzzle. I have all these pieces to put together and more stuff to find out, but eventually it'll be done. I'll know her whole life. _Then_ she'll be dead. She wont be able to live through the stories, then. I'm not looking forward to finishing the puzzle. I think it'll hurt more than her actual death. I'll be too old by then to pretend that it's not happening. I'm not looking forward to that," he repeated. He looked up at Elio again. He wasn't teary-eyed. He just seemed kind of... subdued. He perked up immediately after a second, as if the fog that had settled over him and in his eyes had been dispelled. 

*****

"Shit, sorry. I didn't mean to get into it like that," He smiled dopily, as if he hadn't just reminisced about his dead mother. 

"Don't apologize. I'm happy to hear about it if you want to talk. Sorry, I know that's what everyone says. I mean it though. Wait, not for gossip, I wasn't trying to-"

"Elio, it's fine. I know what you mean." Oliver patted his arm. 

"Right. Okay." Elio started to chew on his lip, worried that he'd done something weird or wrong. 

" Well. I don't know. Any questions?" Oliver laughed, eyes sparkling despite the morose subject of conversation. He was clearly used to this. "Shit, it's like show and tell childhood trauma edition." Elio couldn't help but laugh at that. 

"She seems like she was nice," Elio said, catching Oliver's eye. 

"She was. I kind of wish she never got tied down to my father. I think she could have had an amazing life. I know that would mean that I was never born, but I would never wish a life with dad upon anyone."

"Is he really that bad?"

"He's not, like, the antichrist or anything. He doesn't go around kicking babies and, I don't know, shitting in urinals. But _God,_ that man sucks the joy straight out of life. Nothing is ever enough for him. I'm not enough. My mom wasn't. You know, he was sleeping with other women while my mom was fucking dying. Found that joyful little nugget of information out from my grandma. She hates him too. Anyone that gets close enough to him hates him. If he wasn't so self absorbed maybe he would see how lonely he is. Maybe then I would feel bad for him. But I don't. He deserves it. He's a despicable piece of shit and I would be happy to be completely estranged from him."

"Wow. I, uh-" What were you meant to say in response to someone's rant about their asshole of a father? Elio was feeling wildly incompetent. He couldn't give advice; he had lived a fairly sheltered life. The best he could do was listen and try to understand, but that didn't feel like enough. 

"Sorry, I went overboard again. He just makes me so angry. He's- I just can't stand him."

"No, no, its fine. I'm just surprised that I hate him already and I've never met him." Elio laughed breathily along with Oliver.

"Yep. That's the power of Robert Goodman."

"Well you've only been here for a few months. Where were you before? With your dad?"

"Boarding school in Washington D.C. My dad wanted me out of sight. I eventually persuaded him to just send me here instead." Oliver opened his mouth to explain more, but then decided against it and closed it again.

"How did you convince him to let you come here? I thought you said he did what he wanted and didn't care about you."

"I did say that, and I stand by it. I don't, uh- I can't really explain it all right now. Maybe another time." He seemed uncomfortable. 

"Right." Elio didn't want to push his luck. "So, is your grandma nice at least?"

"Yeah, she is. Well, you should know that. The whole town probably knows her better than me. But yes, she's nice. Eccentric, I would say. Eccentric's good though. Better than old-fashioned and stuffy."

"She seems like fun from what I've heard." Oliver smiled a private little smile, as if he was recollecting something dear to him. 

"She's given me a better life in a matter of months than I've had for years. It's been boarding schools and mansions and lies and too much money. Just shit. It's been shit, but I'm happier here than I can ever remember being, thanks to her. To all of you actually. I don't take the money and the opportunities that came with my old life for granted, but money doesn't automatically ensure happiness. My dad just threw it at me hoping that it would make up for every area that he fell short in. I'm happier now, living an average life in a quiet town."

Elio doesn't quite know what to say. He would never have imagined that Oliver was living a miserable half-life before he came here. He just fit into everything so well. It was hard to picture him somewhere he wasn't thriving like he was now. He kind of feels bad for giving him a hard time when he first joined. He definitely feels bad for the feelings he has for him. He's complicating things. Oliver deserves Chiara. He deserves a girlfriend who loves him, who he loves. Who is Elio to get in the way of that, after everything Oliver has been through?

"Well now I just feel bad for being a dick to you when you first joined. I just thought you had transferred from some other highschool, and that you were another brainless jock."

"I didn't mind it. I still don't. It's entertaining. Actually it kind of helped. If everyone was nice to me it would have felt wrong. You weren't even that bad. You've got quite the intimidating glare on you and you know how to argue but other than that it was fine."

"Well shit, I'll have to try harder next time. Maybe shove your face in a toilet or something. Whatever it is that bullies do." Oliver glanced up at Elio from his hands and laughed. A good laugh. A beautiful laugh. The kind that flips your stomach and warms your heart. They were still and quiet for a moment as they stared at each other. Their laughs had trailed off into sighs, as laughs do, but the residual smiles still lingered. They held each other's gaze for a few more seconds until Oliver finally looked down at his lap again, running his hand through his hair.

"What about you? What's your tale of woe?" For some reason Elio was ashamed that he didn't have one.

"I've got nothing for you. I've had an average childhood. Better than average, actually. I have no complaints."

"None?"

"I don't think so." The only hardship, if it could be called that, that Elio had faced was struggling to come to terms with his sexuality, but even that wasn't half as bad as some people had it. He had supportive parents and he was pretty sure his friends, should he choose to tell them, would be supportive too. So no, no tale of woe. The flow of people down near the stalls was still steady. He thought about getting a cup of coffee.

"Come on." He offered Oliver his hand as Oliver had offered his earlier. He looked confused but still took it and hauled himself up. 

"What are we doing?"

"We're getting coffee."

"Alright," Oliver sighed, following Elio to the stall selling drinks.

**Oliver's POV**

He had overshared. Majorly. Oliver followed Elio into the crowd, zoning out and letting the lights blur as he felt the regret settle in behind his sternum. He didn't usually like to talk about his life with people, but with Elio it had just happened. He wasn't scared of being pitied or cooed at, because he knew Elio wasn't a blithering idiot. Although if he had to admit it he probably wouldn't mind if Elio of all people cooed at him. He tried his best to shake off the feeling of dread that was invading and making him feel heavier by the minute. He could trust Elio. He would be fine. He hadn't even told him anything that bad. He hadn't told him why his father sent him to a boarding school, why he couldn't stand the sight of his own son. He refocused on his surroundings when they stopped to buy coffee. Oliver tried to watch Elio subtly as he ordered politely. He smiled with his lips closed, handing over the money while trying to keep a lock of hair that had fallen in his face out of his eyes. Oliver yearned to help him, to brush back the chestnut strand and see if it was as soft as it had been when he had first touched it under the pretence of first aid weeks ago. Elio interrupted his yearning by handing him a cup of coffee. There was no way to describe him in that moment other than soft and fuzzy and warm. The carnival lights gently illuminated his face and filtered through his hair from behind him, and Oliver couldn't help but ache with the overwhelming desire to hold him. Not even kiss, though that would be nice too. He wanted to tuck his head underneath his chin and hold him tight to his chest and breathe. Just breathe, because right now the distance between them and the way Elio's eyes twinkled and the way the tip of his nose was shiny and still slightly pink made it nearly impossible to breathe. He had to say something. He must have been staring at him for too long

"You know what we were talking about? My mom and my dad and everything? Can you keep that between us, please? I'd rather not have everyone know about it and pity me for it." Elio probably wasn't the type to dish out everyone's secrets, but he had to be sure. He still felt like he was staring as they began to walk

"I won't tell anyone, don't worry." Elio visibly bit the inside of his cheek and then released it. "Why did you tell me if you don't like people knowing about it?"

"I trust you." They felt like big words. Words that were too close to Oliver's truth, but he had to say something to alleviate some of the pressure of his feelings. Elio wouldn't read into them. He would be fine.

"Thanks." Elio's eyes glimmered with the warmth of his smile. "I'm glad you feel that you can trust me."

"Well now you have to give me some big secret. Fair's fair." Elio looked like a deer caught in headlights, so Oliver tried frantically to backpedal. "I'm only joking, you don't have to tell me anything. You didn't force me to tell you so I can't force you to tell me." Elio still looked mildly panicked.

"It's fine, I just don't really have any big secrets to tell you. I'm really not very interesting." Liar. Oliver had never found anyone more interesting. He had never wanted to know someone more.

"You don't need to be interesting to have secrets. Everyone has a secret or two." Oliver realised that it still sounded like he was trying to persuade Elio to spill everything. "You don't need to tell me any though, you don't owe me anything."

"They wouldn't be secrets if I told you. I don't have any small enough to tell you. The only secrets I have are ones that are meant to _stay_ secret." Oliver felt rude for trying to figure out what these secrets were. If anyone discovered his own before he was ready he would be mortified. Instead of continuing the conversation, he smiled as understandingly as he could and took a sip of coffee. Talking about secrets right now was like tiptoeing on the edge of a cliff that he wasn't quite ready to jump off of. Especially with Elio, as he had already discovered that he was less reluctant to share everything with him.

They ventured into new and easier topics as they sat down again, talking about school and plans for the future and books and childhood. It was mostly Elio talking about childhood. He told him about his family's villa in Italy, about the vacations he spent there and the people, the town, everything. He took on a nostalgic look as he spoke about it. Oliver mostly talked about the future. About college and jobs and where he wanted to travel to. He avoided talking about family or relationships. His father had expected him to settle down young as a successful businessman (a chip off the old block) and marry, have kids, the lot. He was safe from those expectations here. For now.

Hours passed as they jumped to each new topic. As the event began to die down, the conversation persisted. The lights were turned off and people began to settle down to sleep. The shop closed and a pair of security guards began their patrol, seeing as it would have been unwise to leave a parking lot full of sleeping people unattended. Elio and Oliver continued to speak. They laughed quietly and spoke in hushed tones, despite their distance from the rest of the group. In the small hours of the morning, the sky cleared and the stars became visible. They turned their gazes upwards and whispered to each other, pointing out the few constellations that they new. A few shooting stars blazed their way across the dark expanse, and they urged each other to make a wish, despite being completely content at that specific moment. Elio removed Oliver's coat and brought out his sleeping bag, unzipping it and wrapping it around his shoulders as the night grew colder still. Oliver copied his actions, pulling on his own sleeping bag. It felt as if they were removed from time, as if normal rules didn't apply. Oliver wished they could stay like this forever. Conversating in hushed whispers, wrapped in thick blankets, sat in cheap plastic chairs. They were ageless, timeless, limitless. He could have done anything and it wouldn't have mattered tomorrow, because it would belong in the bubble that surrounded them tonight. He didn't do anything. He wasn't brave or stupid. They grew tired eventually, both yawning and stretching and trying in vain to keep their eyes open. Elio kicked his legs up into Oliver's lap and slid down in his seat. Oliver settled his hands on his ankles because that's what a friend would do. It would be weird to _not_ do that. Wouldn't it? He set an alarm for 6am, around two and a half hours if they should happen to fall asleep. Eventually the conversation became slower, more nonsensical as their eyelids drooped. Elio stopped replying altogether, his words replaced by deep, level breaths. His head tipped backwards, mouth slightly open. Oliver forced himself to stay awake for just a few more minutes to commit the view of a sleeping Elio to memory before drifting off himself.

**Elio's POV**

Elio blinked groggily and ran his hand- which was ice-cold, quite the wake up call- over his face, trying to dispel the bleariness that was distorting his view of his surroundings. The sky was beginning to lighten, but the sun had not yet risen. Everything was grey and bleak and shadowy despite the few streetlamps that bordered the parking lot. A considerably thick mist had settled over them, and he could only just make out the village of tents set up on the other side of the lot. He would have gone back to sleep if not for the insistent ache in his neck and his freezing hands and more importantly, the warm weight on his ankle. He peered down towards his feet, which were in Oliver's lap. He had forgotten about that. The only part of his body that was warm was the slip of skin on his right ankle which Oliver had wrapped his hand around. He considered moving his feet so as to avoid the awkwardness that would surely arise when Oliver woke up to find Elio's feet still in his lap, but Elio did not want to side with logic today. He left his feet where they were. Oliver's face was partially obscured by shadow, but Elio stared at it nonetheless. Sleep made him seem softer, somehow. More real while not making him seem any less beautiful. Elio refused to move to relieve the pain that was slowly becoming more noticeable in his whole body. It was the inevitable result of sleeping in a chair that was barely suitable for sitting in. He didn't want to risk waking Oliver. A stillness overcame him. Yes, everything was confusing and he was sure that this whole debacle would end with heartbreak for him, and it would be no one's fault but his own, but right now he didn't mind. He would take this moment of stillness and silence and use it later as an ointment to soothe the wounds he would procure when the dust settled. When Oliver was happy and content and it wasn't because of Elio. The quality of otherworldliness from last night still lingered around them. He wondered if it would be the same when Oliver woke up.

Elio allowed himself a few more minutes to stare before resting his head on the back of the chair and staring into the lightening stretch of swirling, cloudy sky above him. He thought about the day ahead. He would go home, eat, shower and then sleep. It felt wrong to go back to something mundane and normal although last night hadn't been particularly special. To leave, to go home alone and carry on like everything was normal would mean that this feeling of contentedness would leave him, and he would go back to worrying about the future and the heartache it would eventually bring. The only sure-fire way to protect himself would be to put some distance between himself and everyone involved. He couldn't do that without people noticing. Chiara wouldn't stand by and let him push her away without good reason. Perhaps if he told her and Oliver about how he felt, about the inevitable damage their relationship would do him, they would understand and give him some space. Let him stay away from them long enough to get over it. That wouldn't do. There were too many risk factors. For one, that would involve telling Oliver about his feelings. He would rather spare himself the embarrassment. There was also the problem that they may abandon their relationship completely for Elio's comfort. Maybe it was a bit presumptuous of him to think that they would be willing to sacrifice their happiness for his comfort, but it wasn't a risk worth taking. Oliver deserved happiness, and so did Chiara. So distancing himself wouldn't work. Neither would giving them a reason and then distancing himself. So the only other option was to suffer in silence. That sounded about right. Well, he had Marzia. She had expressed many times that she didn't mind being his trusty confidant. He sighed and gave up on all of the heavy thoughts, instead choosing to look back on the events of last night. So what if he romanticised them slightly? He got one night, he might as well make the most out of it and commit it to memory as perfectly as possible.

The coat. He remembered the coat. The way it had smelled of Oliver, the way it was warm, big, soft. He allowed himself to imagine that Oliver would have offered him that coat on a date, like one out of those cheesy rom-coms that the gesture had reminded him of yesterday. He knew that when Marzia plagued him later for every little detail, she would particularly enjoy finding out about the coat, no matter how much he insisted that it was just because he was freezing and Oliver felt bad for him. She still liked to pick apart Oliver's actions despite the fact that Elio warned her not to. He didn't actually mind as much as he originally did, In fact, he found himself trying to hide a smile, trying not to get flustered when she sighed and said 'I'm just saying, it seems like the kind of thing you'd do for someone that you like'. It was still bittersweet, but he willed himself not to get caught up on the jagged, painful side of things. The painful part hadn't happened yet, as Marzia liked to remind him. He might as well bleed as much joy out of it as possible before the memory turned sour. Oh and this whole foot-in-lap thing, the holding-the-ankle thing. She would have a field day with this later. Again, another mixed message. Well, there wasn't any message to be mixed but one could imagine. The part that undid all of Marzia's arguments was the fact that if Oliver did like Elio for whatever reason, he wouldn't be dropping hints and making small, indecipherable gestures in the name of flirting. He would have no reason to. He could just go in for the kill. Someone as attractive as him must know that he would rarely be turned down, and even if he was his ego shouldn't be too bruised. Hundreds of other people would be waiting in the wings. So in conclusion, this was just friendliness. Any alternative would be absurd. 

Elio dragged his heavy head back upright to look around again. He squinted through the fog, trying to make out the tents and see if there was any sign of life. Apparently not. Then he picked up his phone and checked the time. It was 5:53am. The sun would probably rise properly in about half an hour. He glanced over to Oliver again and nearly jumped out of his skin upon finding him awake. He had hadn't moved except to lift his head up slightly. Elio caught his eye but neither of them said anything. The silence felt something akin to a weighted blanket; heavy but comforting. It wasn't quite stifling. Not yet. Elio felt that it would have been rude to look away.

"What time is it?" Oliver asked in a hushed voice, slightly gruff from sleep. It sounded peaceful and kind and Elio felt the warmth of it spread through his chest, his stomach, to his fingers and toes. The physical cold didn't matter much to him anymore.

"Nearly six."

"Hm." Oliver didn't move his hand from Elio's leg. Either he didn't notice or it didn't mean enough for him to care. Either way, Elio was thankful. They remained in silence for a while, Elio staring at the zipper on the edge of the sleeping bag while Oliver looked God knows where.

"Did you sleep well?" Oliver asked. _Please don't let this conversation be purely civilities,_ Elio thought.

"Well, I didn't wake up or anything, but everything hurts." He didn't want Oliver to suggest that he moved to shake out the pain. "I'm too tired to move, though." That was a lie. There wasn't a trace of sleepiness left in him since Oliver had woken up.

"Me too. We probably would have been better off sleeping on the tables."

"Yeah," Elio laughed breathily. Same table? It would have kept us warm. "Are you cold? I'm freezing."

"No, I'm fine." Elio already knew this because of the warmth of Oliver's hand on his leg, which he couldn't ignore for the life of him. It took all the strength he had not to jerk his leg away in surprise when Oliver moved his hand slightly up under the leg of his jeans, apparently testing to see if he was in fact freezing. He couldn't quite hide his flinch but Oliver didn't seem to notice. "Woah, you really are freezing."

"Well I wasn't lying about it," Elio said snarkily to hide the fact that his heart had leapt up almost out of his throat at the touch, but then smiled as kindly as possible in case he was coming off as too rude. Oliver reached out his hand to Elio, waiting for something. It took a moment for him to realise that he was trying to touch his hand. This was going to be the end of him. _Of course_ he had to fall for someone who was comfortable with platonic touch. It was like having a free trial of the real thing, which, when he thought about it, wasn't so bad. At least he got the meaningless touches. Elio held his hand out hesitantly, laughing when Oliver jumped upon touching it. 

"Fuck, you're ice cold. Tuck your hands under your armpits or something or you're gonna have to carry your fingers in sandwich bags to the emergency room." Oliver's eyebrows were drawn up in disbelief and concern. Elio would rather warm his hands up in Oliver's, but he wasn't ballsy enough to say it. He took the advice and folded his arms across his chest, tucking his fingers tightly under his arms and trying to thaw out the numbness. Oliver shuffled his chair around so he was facing Elio completely and then pulled his blanket out from underneath him, pulling it up over his front instead and tucking the excess around Elio's legs and feet. The thoughtfulness alone was enough to warm Elio completely. He tucked his chin, which was also cold, into his chest. Oliver picked his coat up from the table and threw it at Elio, insisting that he wrap it around himself as well as the sleeping bag because 'he was already warm enough, he didn't need it.'

"You end up treating me like a patient every time we're together," Elio huffed, and then he immediately regretted sounding so grumpy about it.

"Because you're always cold or hurt. Would you prefer for me to be an asshole?"

"No, I didn't say it was a bad thing." Uh oh, that was very close to sounding like 'I like it'. "I just- people aren't normally like that." He was thinking of every possible way to steer them away from the topic. Oliver's phone lit up and started blaring out an alarm. He cursed and turned it off.

"Huh. I didn't realise it was a particularly prominent thing." Oliver seemed genuinely surprised. Elio found that it always was somewhat disorienting when someone reveals something that alters your perception of yourself.

"I can't believe I thought you actually _were_ going to be a complete asshole when you joined. I still feel bad even though you said you don't mind."

"Why did you think that?" Oliver was smiling, probably waiting for Elio to dig himself into a hole.

"You came from out of nowhere, instantly wooing everyone, instantly popular. It seemed like a pretty spot on assumption at the time. Almost anyone else would have been spoiled by all the attention and popularity."

" _Instantly wooing."_ Oliver scoffed and huffed out a laugh.

"Don't try to deny it," Elio pointed an accusatory finger at him.

"Fine, fine. Would you have been an asshole with all the attention?" Elio thought over his answer for a moment.

"I'd like to say no, but you can never give a definitive answer until you've been in the situation yourself."

"You speak as if you're completely unknown and irrelevant. Literally everyone in that school knows you."

"There's a difference between popularity and being friends with everyone. Most people don't like popular people, but you haven't given everyone a reason to dislike you, so you're both liked and popular."

"I haven't given everyone a reason, and yet you still hated me." Elio felt guilty even though he knew Oliver was only teasing him.

"Hate is a very strong word. You won me over eventually, stop complaining."

You know, you have quite the bias against attractive people-" Elio didn't let him finish.

"Are you calling yourself attractive?" 

"You accused me of _wooing_ everyone," Oliver deadpanned and then rolled his eyes. "Anyway, as I was saying- you instantly had it out for me because I _wooed_ everyone-" He clearly wasn't letting that word go. "-you assumed that I was stupid and shallow. See, that would make sense if you were conventionally unattractive and shunned by beautiful people, but as things go you're quite the opposite. You act as if you're not amongst the leagues of the conventionally attractive. I could have just as easily assumed that you're mindless and superficial. Believe me, if I was to compile a list of people that _you've_ wooed it wouldn't be that short either." Elio felt his face heating up. It wasn't a compliment as such, but it was still somewhat flattering. Especially from Oliver. "Why are you blushing," Oliver laughed. Well now he was blushing even harder. "It's not like this is some profound new discovery. You're pretty and everyone knows it." Now he was just teasing him.

"Shut up," Elio scowled. "It's not- I don't acknowledge it. I don't have any reason to use it to my advantage so I don't acknowledge it."

"You _could_ use it to your advantage. You could probably get with anyone in school." _But I don't want just anyone,_ he thought petulantly. _I want you._

"Yeah, no thanks." The distaste was clear in his voice. He had to get out of the spotlight. They were in dangerous territory. "Are you implying that you use it to your advantage? You clearly know that it's possible. Is that what-"

"No, God no! People would know by now if I had. You know, small town, big gossips." Elio laughed at that. He wasn't wrong.

"So you're not getting with Chiara just because you can?"

"No."

"Good. She deserves better than that." He received a hum of agreement and they settled back into silence. His stomach was writhing like a snake pit at the suggestion of Oliver and Chiara together. He should have just left well enough alone. The sound of an alarm, followed by a tent zipper being undone reached them from across the parking lot. They turned their heads in unison to look for the source. The fog had thinned and the sky was getting lighter by the minute, The sun would break over the horizon any moment now. Oliver checked the time.

"It's half-past six." That went quick. "Everyone will be waking up soon."

"What time are we all meant to be gone by?"

"Half-past seven I think."

"I don't feel like waiting around for another hour, do you?"

"Nope. We'll have to wait for Ms. Erickson to wake up so we can tell her that we're leaving." Elio unfolded his arms and stretched them, yawning at the same time. "Should we start packing up?"

"Are you any warmer?" Oliver asked, his concern constantly surprising Elio.

"Yeah, warm enough." 

"Alright then." They stood up to the soundtrack of cracking joints. Oliver lightly kicked the back of Elio's knee, making him stumble and causing his yawn to turn midway into a laugh. He turned and threw the coat at Oliver's head. They packed the rest of their stuff up like that: teasing and mocking, elbowing each other playfully. Elio was glad to have this easy friendship with Oliver if he could have nothing more. Ms. Erickson just so happened to wake up slightly later than everyone else. By the time she gave them the go-ahead to leave, the parking lot was already emptying out. They made their way to the coffee shop as they had planned to earlier, and then stopped dead in their tracks as they saw the amount of people queuing and sitting at the few tables inside. Apparently everyone else had had the same idea as them. They looked at each other and simultaneously agreed that it wasn't worth it.

"Coffee at mine? It's closest," Oliver asked as they began to walk.

"Okay." 


	6. Axe-Murderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which we learn the benefits of a perpetually cold character.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY! I am trying my best to update regularly. The only thing I can promise is that I will never leave this unfinished. Updates might not be as regular as I wish they were, but I promise I will get to the end of this story. I love it too much to abandon it. This chapter is shorter than usual, I guess it's kind of just a transition into the next chapter, which will of course be the whole theatre shenanigan. I am so sorry for any mistakes, I'm checking this over and its very late right now so I may have slipped up. Anyway, thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me through this.

**Elio's POV**

They narrowly avoided the rain. Minutes after they stepped into Oliver's house, it poured down in torrents, making everything blurry and dull. The kitchen and the living room were visible from the front door, as most of the first floor appeared to be open-plan, except for two rooms at the back of the house which were separated by a small hallway housing the staircase. At the end of this was a door leading to the garden. There was certainly no shortage of colour. The first things that Elio noticed were the kitchen cabinets which had glass fronts and had been painted a subdued yellow colour, with a small yellow island in the middle of the kitchen to match. The counter tops were white. Despite the gloom outside, the kitchen felt sunny. The flooring was consistent throughout the space: warm walnut hardwood floors. The living room was something to behold if the vibrancy of kitchen wasn't enough of an assault to the senses. Elio couldn't pick out a specific style, and yet everything seemed to fit. The sofa was a more lively yellow than the kitchen, stood on four short wooden legs. Two teal armchairs, also with wooden legs, kept it company, both short and squat in stature. There was an array of jewel-coloured silk cushions strewn across all three pieces of furniture. The coffee table was made of raw wood, somehow not taking away from the shockingly bright theme of the room. The woven rug was intricate and colourful, in other words magnificent. There was a bookshelf crammed with books and shelves adorned with peculiar little trinkets. Art on the wall that was just on the right side of abstract and strange. Everything demanded attention, everything caught the eye. The most normal-looking thing in the room was a TV mounted on the wall which Elio had barely even noticed. Despite the lack of uniformity and abundance of colour and absurdity, the room wasn't obnoxious. In fact, it was beautiful. Nothing seemed out of place or too outlandish. Perhaps that was what it was: a collection of outlandishness that Elio couldn't help but be enraptured by. They both stood by the front door for a while. Oliver seemed to be giving Elio a chance to take it all in.

"It's a lot, I know," Oliver chuckled, probably at the unguarded look of amazement on Elio's face.

"I can't- It's amazing. I love it. I mean, you said that your grandma was eccentric, but I could never have imagined this." Elio was still trying to take everything when Oliver slipped his bag off of his shoulder for him and placed it on the floor beside the door. 

"I truly have no idea how she gets it all to work together, but she does." Elio followed Oliver to the kitchen, where he gestured for him to sit down on one of the stools at the island. "Coffee, right?" Elio nodded. He wasn't tired yet, but he new that he would be soon. He hoped that the caffeine would kick in before the fatigue did. He watched as Oliver made two cups of coffee. It felt strange yet slightly reassuring to see him in his own home, where he was so sure of himself. Not that Oliver was ever unsure of himself, he just seemed to fit even more perfectly here. He turned his back for a minute and Elio allowed himself to enjoy _that_ beautiful view, but he got guilty soon enough and instead chose to pick at his nails. Oliver handed him the cup of coffee and he wrapped his hands around it, grateful for the warmth it gave off. His fingers were frigid and stiff from the cold. 

"Thanks," he smiled politely.

"Are you _still_ cold?" Oliver asked incredulously, looking at the hands he had wrapped around the mug. Elio snorted.

"Sorry, is it bothering you?" He smirked sarcastically. Oliver rolled his eyes.

"No, it's bothering you. Would you like a sweater? A comforter maybe?" He sounded like he was teasing but Elio knew for a fact that he was being serious. He was far too nice.

"No, Oliver. I'm fine. We literally just got inside, give me a minute to warm up." Oliver turned to the side to open a cupboard and side-eyed him.

"Fine, but if I see even a shiver..." He tailed off ominously, pointing a finger at Elio who bit his cheek to combat a smile that was fighting its way onto his face.

"God, you never stop checking in. Why are you so concerned for my wellbeing?" He was still smirking slightly, clearly joking.

"It's just a habit. I do it to everyone." It shouldn't have been disheartening to find out that Oliver treated everyone with such care, but Elio felt his heart sink nevertheless. He didn't have anything to say. "Are you hungry?" 

"Yeah, I could eat." He took a sip of coffee.

"Anything in mind?"

"Oh, just toast, please."

"Very polite," Oliver commented. Elio glared at him.

"Well what did you want me to say? 'Give me some fucking toast right now'?" Oliver burst into loud peals of laughter at that, and Elio couldn't help but smile along.

"Just toast? You're sure?" He verified after he got his breath back.

"Not to imply that I don't trust your cooking abilities, but..." Oliver feigned offence, which Elio chuckled at at. Did he giggle? God, he hoped it wasn't a giggle. "I'm joking. I don't think I'm alive enough right now to process anything other than toast. We're running on less than two hours of sleep and I've just remembered the plans for tonight. So toast."

"Toast it is." Elio checked his phone as he waited. It was nearly 8am. There was a text from his mother asking what time he would be back, to which he replied he didn't know, but he was eating breakfast at Oliver's right now. He put his phone down on the worktop. Oliver hauled himself up onto the island and then laid down, sighing and staring up at the ceiling. Elio took a moment to look at him, confounded by the sudden and immense desire to reach out and stroke his hair, to watch his eyes as he brushed his fingers along his cheekbones and nose. He hoped the conscious effort he put into restraining himself didn't show in his face. Oliver didn't say anything if it did. He continued to stare at the ceiling even as Elio looked at him for slightly too long. The stillness was broken by the sound of footsteps on the creaking staircase. He had forgotten that they weren't alone. Oliver didn't get up, he just rolled his head to the side to look at the stairs, where a short but graceful-looking woman emerged seconds later. Mrs. Wright, Oliver's grandmother. The first thing Elio noticed was that her hair was white, shockingly so, and long enough to be wrapped in a bun at the back of her head. Elio thought that she must have inherited fantastic genes to have hair that had turned a brilliant white rather than a drab grey with old age. It was also still miraculously thick, and he had to admire the fact that she hadn't cut it all off in favour of a sparse pixie cut. It wasn't often that you saw an older woman with a full head of long hair. She cupped Oliver's cheek as she walked past and smiled at him silently but warmly in what seemed like an intimate greeting. 

"Hello!" She exclaimed in a slight New York accent upon seeing Elio, like she was actually ecstatic to meet him. "You must be..." She waited for him to fill in the blank. 

"Elio." Both he and Oliver answered. She leaned over Oliver's head and covered his mouth with her hand. 

"Hush, I was asking Elio." When she removed her hand Oliver stuck his tongue out petulantly and grinned. She mimicked him and then turned to Elio, who was for some reason filled with unadulterated glee at the interaction. It seemed so easy, so carefree and Elio allowed himself a moment to be happy for Oliver. Happy that he was away from his father and with someone who clearly loved him fiercely. He deserved love. "Elio! It's so nice to meet you!" Without another word, she went in for a hug. He had met this woman moments ago, and yet this hug had already earned its place in Elio's top five most comforting hugs. She was a brilliant hugger. He looked over her shoulder at Oliver, who was still laying on the table but now had an impossibly wide grin plastered on his face. Eventually she pulled back, but didn't relinquish her hold on Elio. She gripped his shoulders, and then held his face between her palms.

"You're cold," she gasped, feeling his cheeks, his nose, running her hand over his forehead. Elio would never have allowed anyone else that he had just met to touch him this much, but he wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, he welcomed it. It was impossible not to trust her. "Oliver, go and get the both of you a sweater each. You smell like outside and my Elio here is cold. I can't let my favourite friend of yours stay cold." Oliver snorted.

"Favourite friend of mine? You've known him for three minutes at most, grandma." He hopped off the counter. "He could be an axe murderer."

"I believe you know better than to be friends with a murderer, and anyway, he doesn't seem like one to me. Elio, my dear, are you an axe murderer?" She asked sweetly, as if she was asking if he would like sugar with his tea. Apparently she liked her conversations to be as absurd as her taste in interior design. He was liking her more and more by the minute.

"I don't believe so."

"Brilliant. See?" she turned her head over her shoulder to look at Oliver. 

"That's exactly how they get you," he sighed, leaning on the doorframe. 

"I thought you were getting sweaters," Elio teased. Oliver looked betrayed and slightly ganged up on. Mrs. Wright tilted Elio's chin up and scrutinized him, if the look on her face was anything to go by.

"You're very pretty, y'know," she patted his cheek. He heard Oliver burst into laughter halfway up the stairs, clearly recalling their conversation from earlier where Elio had gotten flustered at the same words. He felt his cheeks start to burn. "Oh, I hope you don't mind me saying that. Some boys prefer to be called handsome or whatever else, but pretty's pretty. Anyone can be pretty. You are." Elio's cheeks got redder and redder. He was sure of it.

"I don't mind," he insisted, and smiled bashfully. "Thank you." She patted his cheek once more and then released him. Truth be told, he actually didn't mind. He knew his face wasn't typically masculine, like Oliver's, for example. Pretty was enough for him. More than enough.

"Oh, your toast," she jumped upon hearing the toaster pop up. She handed it to him on a plate with a knife and butter, which he utilised quickly, hunger spurring him on. He wolfed down a few bites and then set it back down on the plate to sip his coffee. Mrs. Wright grinned at him and started to make herself some tea. The stairs creaked a few minutes later, a tell-tale sign that Oliver was coming back. He appeared around the corner of the banister in a dark gray knitted sweater with a blue hoodie slung over his shoulder. Elio cursed internally, realising that he would have to spend the next half an hour or however long he remained here in Oliver's hoodie. How was he supposed to act? If it was up to him he would never give it back. Sighing and shaking his head, he removed his own hoodie and pulled Oliver's on, pretending to be exasperated. 

"Oh, I see," Oliver said, crossing his arms. "You'll listen to my grandma when she tells you to put something on but you won't listen to me."

"Yeah, pretty much," Elio shrugged, taking a bite of toast. He couldn't explain that he didn't want to take a sweater when Oliver advised him to because he didn't want to seem too eager. 

Mrs. Wright turned on the radio and turned the volume down to background noise as Oliver took a seat and buttered his own toast. Elio was sat rigidly, trying not to bump elbows with him or accidentally kick his foot. No one spoke for a while. Elio planned for the day ahead. He would shower, probably sleep. Perhaps he would invite Marzia around before they went out tonight so he could speak about everything that had happened. She would probably insist on coming round without an invite, actually, eager to hear about last night. 

"So, how did everything go?" Mrs. Wright asked, cutting up an apple. "Did you boys actually sleep? It doesn't look like it. You look exhausted."

"Rude," Oliver mumbled, grinning when he caught the eyeroll from his grandmother. "We did sleep, actually. For two hours. On terrible plastic chairs." She tutted and transferred the sliced apple to a bowl, moving on to a banana.

"You'll be asleep for the rest of the day, then. Are you still going out tonight?"

"Yeah, to the theatre."

"What time?"

"Eight. I'll have enough time to sleep today and then I'll be up on time tonight."

"That's good. Oh! The money! For the charity thing, the sponsorship. When do you need it?"

"I'm collecting from people at school on Monday so I don't need it until then."

"Monday it is, then." She sat down in a stool opposite them with her bowl of fruit. Elio was attempting to make himself as scarce as possible, trying not to interrupt their conversation. He had finished his toast and was now trying to make the last few dregs of coffee last so he didn't have to sit awkwardly with nothing to do. Mrs. Wright pulled a magazine out from a shelf under the island and flipped it open, clearly trying to give Elio and Oliver some space to talk. Elio felt a gentle kick on his ankle. He flinched, only just realising that he had zoned out and was staring into his coffee. Oliver narrowed his eyes.

"What?" Elio whispered. He had no idea why he was whispering. He should probably stop, it was weird.

"You're too quiet." Elio fought hard to not roll his eyes. Oliver was much too observant. Elio couldn't do anything slightly off without him noticing. In any other circumstance it would be nice that someone cared if he was too quiet or tense, but he was trying to fly under the radar right now. His aim when he was with Oliver was to hide feelings, not express them. It was difficult with someone who was so determined to make sure he was okay. 

"I was drinking," he brought the cup of coffee to his lips as if to prove his point. Oliver was clearly not convinced. "Oliver, I'm fine. Really, I'm just tired. So are you." Mrs. Wright was still focusing on the magazine. Oliver didn't reply, he just frowned further and stood up, picking up their empty plates and depositing them in the sink. 

"Do you want more coffee?" He turned to face Elio and leaned back against the worktop.

"No, thanks. What time is it?" He checked his phone, answering his own question. "I should probably get going." Oliver nodded and took his empty coffee cup. "Bye, Mrs. Wright. It was nice to meet you." She looked up upon being addressed. 

"It was nice to meet you, too. You're welcome here whenever. I think you'll make for good conversation." Elio grinned, glad to be in her good books. He made his way to the door, followed closely by Oliver. He had just passed the sofa when he felt a hand settle on his shoulder, fingers pressing in to the muscle. 

"You're tense. Why are you so tense?" Oliver squeezed his shoulder, causing Elio to jump about a mile away from him. His first instinct had been to welcome the touch, maybe even encourage it, but rationality caught up with him fast. He hoped his extreme reaction didn't seem suspicious. He turned to look at Oliver and couldn't find any distinct emotion on his face. Good. The last thing he wanted was to offend him

"We slept in plastic chairs, what do you expect?" 

"Good point." Elio picked his bag up from beside the door and began to pull the straps over his shoulders.

"You don't have to ask me if I'm okay all the time, you know," he murmured, wary of bringing it up. "I'm fine. I just zone out sometimes, it doesn't mean that I'm upset."

"Okay, lets make a deal. Actually tell me when you're not okay, and then I won't have to ask all the time." 

"I'm always okay," Elio argued, only realising how stupid it sounded after he had already said it. Nobody was always okay. 

"Yeah, right."

"Why do you care so much?" He asked again, not joking like he was earlier.

"Because I'm a decent human being. Why are you so defensive?"

"Because we've only really been friends for a few days. Before that we barely spoke. You don't normally rely on someone you've just started speaking to for emotional support." Oliver opened his mouth but said nothing as if he was confused by this fact. 

"Oh, yeah. It feels like we've been friends for longer," he mumbled, gaze falling to the floor as a slight blush tinted his cheeks. Elio had nothing to say. He was right. It felt like they had known each other for much longer. He had to say something, lest Oliver thought the friendship was one-sided. He was feeling guilty already.

"I know. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so defensive. I just don't have many close friends. It feels strange that someone cares."

"You have loads of people that would want to care for you if you let them in." Elio met his eyes, mulling over the words. They stayed like that for a moment, each fixated on the other's face. Oliver looked down at his feet, cleared his throat, and then looked back up. The strange, thick quality the air had taken on for those few seconds cleared, and Elio felt that he could finally breathe again. He looked down at himself, preparing to leave and then realised that he was still wearing the blue hoodie.

"Oh, I forgot the hoodie," he mumbled, slipping his arm through the straps again to take it off. He had it halfway down his arm when Oliver stopped him, taking his hand away from it and placing the strap back on his shoulder, patting it for good measure.

"If you take it off now you'll be cold again before you get home. Take it with you." Elio opened his mouth to protest but when Oliver raised his eyebrow as if he was daring him to disagree, he lost all willpower. "I bet if I get my grandma to tell you to keep it you will," he smirked.

"Shut up," Elio huffed, punching him in the shoulder and turning to the door. "I'll see you tonight."

"See you." Oliver held the door open for him and leaned against the frame as he stepped out. Elio got halfway down the driveway and turned to wave. When he got to the end he heard the door shut gently.

**Oliver's POV**

Oliver shut the door and crossed the room, heading for the stairs.

"Are you going to bed?" His grandma asked, looking over the top of the magazine.

"I'm showering first but then I'll be going to sleep, unless there's anything you need me to do." She shook her head and her brown eyes took on a considerable amount of warmth as she smiled. 

"No, nothing that I can't do. Just some laundry, maybe some shopping. Sleep well, kid." Oliver let out a sigh, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. Before he made it to the stairs she called his name again. 

"Yeah?" 

"He's a nice boy, that Elio." Oliver was sure that the confusion was clear in his face. His eyes widened, trying to sort through all the possible implications of that statement in a split second.

"I know." He hurried to put on a smile that probably looked more like a grimace and hastened to his bedroom. Did she know? How much had she been told about the reason he was now living with her rather than with his father or in a boarding school? If she did know, she certainly wasn't condemning him for it. He dumped his bag at the end of his bed and went to the bathroom, turning on the shower, stripping his clothes, and getting in. He thought for a second that perhaps everything would turn out fine if he chose to accept his feelings, and in turn, himself. If his grandma did already know and was still treating him the same, accepting him and even encouraging him (if that comment about Elio had meant what he thought it meant), then maybe it wouldn't be so bad with everyone else. After all, if an old woman living in a small town could accept him, couldn't his friends? That was all that mattered to him. He only felt it necessary to come out to the small handful of people that he cared about, and as long as he didn't lose any of them he would be fine. Everyone else in school and the wider community could and would come to their own conclusions, he didn't care. He didn't have any family other than his grandma that he cared about. His father knew he was attracted to boys and he had already faced the consequences for that. He couldn't do much more damage. In fact, the idea of coming out in spite of his father's belligerence and intolerance was exhilarating. Oliver was out of his reach, and it would feel so good to finally be his true self just to get back at his father for trying to hide him or fix him. Terrifying, definitely, but was anything that's not terrifying worth it? Then again, this all depended on how his friends would react. Would he be rejected? He had only been here a few months, maybe he should wait a while longer, gauge their views on gay people before doing anything drastic. 

Being new to town had a potential benefit. This could be an opportunity for him start from scratch without his past weighing him down. Granted, he had already been here for a few months so he couldn't completely change everyone's perspective of him, but there were a few things that he had left undefined. His sexuality, for example. What would he even come out as? Gay? Bisexual? He had thought at first that he was bisexual, but now he couldn't be sure. Had he just been telling himself and his father that he was bi to lessen the blow? If he had, it didn't work. On that fateful day when his father discovered the truth about him, he had insisted that he was only bi, but any amount of gay was too gay for that man. Maybe he wouldn't come out as anything. He could just declare that he liked boys, and that would be the end of that. The concept of not labelling and boxing himself for other people's comfort seemed alluring, but at the same time he thought that maybe he should figure out how he felt once and for all so he could come out and be sure of himself. As he lathered shampoo in his hair, he thought about all of the girls he had dated, or more accurately, been on dates with because nothing had ever lasted long enough to amount to a relationship. He felt nothing. The thought of kissing any of them, even sleeping with them, inspired nothing at all. Then he thought about Elio, because Elio was always lingering somewhere in his thoughts. He imagined kissing him, and the idea of it shot a thrill through his stomach. He had to stop thinking about him abruptly, because he had other stuff to be dwelling on right now and he couldn't afford to be distracted. Suddenly, he remembered Chiara. He hadn't really forgotten her, but he had been avoiding opening that can of worms, seeing as he was confused enough already. Well, it was well and truly open now. When it came to Chiara, he didn't exactly feel nothing but he didn't feel what he felt for Elio. He was always happy to see her and she was beautiful and smart and funny, but was he attracted to her? Trying to determine whether his thoughts were platonic or romantic happened to be difficult. It seemed unfair to pursue this relationship with her if he wasn't completely sure that it was what he wanted, but the thought of breaking it off was daunting, to say the least. He didn't want to upset her, and giving up on any attempt at a relationship seemed like a sure way to do that. He didn't want to risk losing her as a friend. On the other hand, if he let it go on for longer and then realised later that he didn't want a relationship with her, wouldn't that just cause more damage? He would either have to stick it out and see if he truly wanted to be in a relationship with her, or he would have to break up with her and suffer the losses. There was no way to fix any of it without causing pain. He supposed it was like setting a broken bone. He would have to endure the pain of shifting it back in to place before he could bind and heal it.

Oliver turned the shower off and tied a towel around his waist. He couldn't believe that all of this soul searching had been the result of a barely ambiguous comment that his grandma had made. His brain was whirring with all of the new things he had to consider. Discomfort crept up on him and weighed him down as he realised that he had multiple big decisions to make. He felt nauseous and he wanted nothing more than to be oblivious again. Plaguing him was the nagging urge to run as far and as fast as he could, until his chest ached and his lungs were empty and his legs were weak. Until his blood was pounding so loudly in his ears that he could no longer hear his own thoughts. This urge often consumed him in times of confusion and discomfort. His aim was never to escape physically, he just wanted to push himself so hard that he couldn't focus on anything other than breathing. If he hadn't told his grandma that he was going to sleep and if his limbs weren't heavy with fatigue he might have given in to the urge. Sleep would have to do for now. He just hoped that he was too tired to dream. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants and climbing into bed, he thought about going to the theatre that night. He would have to spend the evening with two of the main causes of his current internal conflict. His stomach gave one last twist of anxiety and anticipation before he fell into a sound sleep.

** Elio's POV **

Elio said a quick hello to his parents when he arrived home, showered, and then fell gratefully into a deep sleep, only just remembering to set an alarm for 4pm that afternoon. Eight hours of sleep was pretty good. Well, it hadn't seemed pretty good until he woke up to his alarm blaring, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. He still had just under four hours left until he had to go out, but Marzia had messaged him while he was on his way home earlier, insisting upon coming round so he could tell her about everything that had happened with Oliver. He turned off the alarm and rolled on to his back to stare at the ceiling. He was actively fighting sleep. How could he be so tired after a solid eight hours? Lying still for too long was a sure way to fall back to sleep, so Elio begrudgingly hauled himself up out of bed. One leg of his pyjama pants had hiked up to his knee so he balanced on one leg, using the heel of his other foot to pull it back down. He still had Oliver's blue hoodie on. There was no excuse for sleeping in it other than the fact that it smelled like Oliver. Getting dressed right now seemed like an arduous task, so he grabbed his phone off of the nightstand and stumbled downstairs. Elio traversed the foyer and upon passing the living room door, saw his mother sat in an overstuffed armchair with her legs tucked underneath her. He leaned against the doorframe and moved to sit down on the sofa when she looked up at him. 

"What are you watching?" 

"Some documentary. I haven't really been paying attention to it. Did you sleep well?"

"Yep," Elio stretched his arms out and yawned. 

"You're not going to be tired enough to sleep tonight."

"Believe me, I will. I'm still tired."

"Are you hungry? You missed lunch?" Annella unfurled her legs as if she was about to stand up.

"Not yet. I probably will be soon though. I'll probably have a sandwich and then I won't eat dinner later. Oh, is it okay if Marzia comes over in a bit?"

"Yes, I don't see why not. Why is she coming over so early though? Aren't you all going to see each other tonight?" She frowned, stretching out her legs and standing. 

"Yeah, but she wanted to talk to me about something first."

"Hm. Alright." She left the room, ruffling his hair on the way out. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. Half an hour until Marzia would be round. He yawned again and slid further down into the sofa, trying to keep his eyes open.

***

"Do you want a sandwich?" Elio asked over his shoulder while buttering a slice of bread. 

"Are you having one?" Marzia sat down at the table across the room from him. He stared at her, trusting her to see how stupid that question was when he was literally in the midst of making a sandwich at that moment. "Oh, yeah. Okay then. I'll have whatever you're having."

"So, what did you want to speak about?" He smirked, acting as if he didn't know full well what she wanted to hear. He was glad that there was nothing in her general vicinity for her to throw at him.

"You know what I want to speak about. Spill it."

"I'll tell you after we've eaten," He said smugly, partially because he liked to annoy her and partially because he had no idea where to start, or if anything that had happened was even of much consequence. 

"You're killing me," She groaned, throwing her head back to glare at the ceiling. He offered her a sandwich a few minutes later and they ate in silence at the kitchen table, both clearly anticipating the conversation to come. "So then, what happened?" Marzia inquired after finishing her food.

"Shall we go upstairs?" It wasn't a question. Elio cleared the plates away and then headed for his room, clearly expecting her to go with him. He reached his room and flopped onto his bed, followed swiftly by Marzia. They were silent for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, before Marzia spoke hesitantly.

"Was it bad?" Elio turned to look at her, mulling over the question.

"I don't think so. You'll have to tell me."

"Well you'll have to tell _me_ what happened first. You've left me hanging for this long."

"Okay, sorry. I don't know where to start," he sighed. He decided that the beginning happened to be a very good place. He told her everything, being careful not to leave out any details, for he knew how meticulous she expected him to be. He chose not to go into detail about what Oliver had told him about his family and his past. He trusted that she would understand that some things had to remain private. Marzia didn't say anything for a while after he finished his description. It was somewhat unnerving. "God, is it that bad?"

"No, quite the opposite actually. I just don't want to say anything because you usually hate it when I say that his actions seem... ambiguous, to say the least. Well, in my opinion, anyway."

"Say whatever you want, Marzia. I don't care anymore. I might as well get as much fun out of it as possible before he's actually dating Chiara."

"Well, he gave you his coat. That's a classic move. He kept checking to see if you were okay. Oh, and isn't that his hoodie?" 

"Yes, it's his hoodie, but only because his grandma insisted upon me wearing it because I was cold." He crossed his arms defensively. "And apparently it's a habit of his to check in on people. He's too nice. It's not fair."

"Stop complaining. Oh, before I forget. He let you put your feet in his lap. Not only did he let you, but he literally held your legs. All night. And continued to do so after he woke up." Elio felt a thrill race through him as he remembered. He tried to play off the blush that was searing his cheeks.

"This feels so stupid. I feel like a little kid gossiping about their crush."

"Yeah, but its fun, isn't it?"

"Kinda," he admitted reluctantly.

"Let's not forget about this morning. He touched your shoulder, unprovoked, and then he made you promise to tell him when you're not okay. I hate to say it- well I don't actually, you just hate to hear it- but if he was treating a girl like this it would be natural to assume that he was interested."

"People can be friendly without it meaning anything, Marzia. Maybe he's just a very friendly person. Mrs. Wright seemed very nice, and she was trying to take care of me the minute she felt how cold I was, too. It's probably just learned behaviour."

"Maybe." She didn't seem convinced. "I'm glad Chiara doesn't tell me about him. I would start comparing his behaviour with her to his behaviour with you, and I probably wouldn't like what I saw. Or maybe I would. Either way, it would be bad."

"She doesn't talk to you about him?"

"Nope. Not at all. Maybe she will when things get more serious." They were both silent at the suggestion of things getting more serious between Oliver and Chiara. "Out of everyone, you had to choose someone that Chiara has decided to take seriously? Terrible choice, really."

"I didn't choose. I don't _want_ to like him. And anyway, I liked him first." He said petulantly, crossing his arms again for effect. Marzia laughed as his childish behaviour and elbowed him.

"You should have said something. She would have left him alone or at least checked if it was alright with you. That's the bro code."

"I know, I know. Well, there's nothing we can do about it now," he said with a lightness that he didn't feel. "I'll get over it." Marzia turned her head and smiled sadly at him. He didn't look at her. He was worried that there were tears in his eyes. He had never allowed himself to cry over this situation, but now he had the gut wrenching urge to just weep and scream at Oliver for being Oliver. Beautiful and completely fucking unattainable. For the first time, he was angry about it all. The tears that had started to well were tears of anger, and they burned hot enough to scold. He was frustrated that Oliver's friendliness felt so misleading, and yet he knew it was nothing more than civility. He had never known someone so unequivocally kind before without an ulterior motive, and every morsel of affection became a lump of coal to fuel the steady flame of compassion that he was harbouring. He was terrified of the flame becoming a wild, scorching blaze. Something fierce and uncontrollable that ravaged him from the inside out. From here on out, he would allow himself to cry. When he got home tonight and his eyes brimmed with tears as he knew they would, he would let them fall. They would be bitter but they would serve to stifle the flame. Soon enough, he would be flame-retardant. This was just teenage love. Fickle and destined to fizzle out. He tucked his tongue into his cheek and bit down, forcing back the tears. Marzia patted his arms and threaded her fingers through his, not saying a word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Oliver's whole coming out dilemma is one that a lot of questioning people face. You should never feel obligated to label or box yourself for the comfort of others. Remain true to yourself, and do what is right for you. I can't really give the best advice because I'm something of a train wreck myself, but when in doubt, Born This Way by Lady Gaga.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wV1FrqwZyKw


	7. Humiliation with a Side of Resentment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's the point in a first date in a theater?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm really dragging out this 'Are you okay?' narrative but fuck. it. I think this is kind of a turning point chapter so it's probably the last time I'll use a scene like that.
> 
> GUYS I AM SO SORRY! It has been a while. I feel so bad but I'm really struggling to find the time for much. I am so determined to keep going and I am so so sorry that I disappeared for however long. I think I'm gonna start allocating time specifically for writing because this is getting ridiculous. Apologies, and thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me, you are all so amazing.

Marzia drove them to the theater, picking up Stephen on the way. Elio sat in the back, trying not to wince every time they swerved or took a corner at breakneck speed. Despite being quite the level-headed and sensible person, Marzia could not drive for shit. It was raining- as it had been all day- which only made things worse. It would be a miracle if they arrived at the movie theatre without whiplash. Elio felt like an actor in one of those staple stare-out-of-the-window scenes. He gazed at the glistening tarmac of the road as it passed him by, and the wiry trees lining the roadside. Spring was only just making an appearance, but nothing had fully bloomed yet. Everything still looked somewhat gaunt and dreary. He couldn't wait to feel the sun's warmth again; It had been a long winter.

They arrived early, so they stood outside under a shelter to wait for the others. Elio tapped his foot and bit his nails, trying to stave off his nervousness. His mind was going a mile a minute, each new thought coming as rapidly as the staccato rhythm of his foot. Queasy would have been an accurate way to describe how he was feeling. The sooner this was over, the better. He lied to himself to make him feel better; _there's no reason to feel this anxious, you don't have anything to be stressed about_. He was practically denying Oliver's existence. He was definitely denying his feelings. Back to square one, then.

Chiara arrived first, strolling over calmly with an umbrella over her head. At first, Elio was glad that Chiara and Oliver didn't arrive together, and then he made a conscious effort to curb that thought because it was none of his business. Moments later, Oliver clambered out of a car and sprinted over, trying his best not to get soaked by the sheets of rain pelting down. Elio sought out his gaze and regretted it when Oliver's eyes met his. He shouldn't feel entitled to Oliver's attention. He was just about to look away to give Oliver and Chiara a chance to greet each other when Oliver spoke up.

"Did you actually sleep?" He huffed, slightly breathless from his sprint across the parking lot.

"Yes, does it not look like it?" Elio replied snidely. He knew that Oliver didn't mean it as an insult but Elio thought it would be funny to watch him trip over himself to apologize. Instead, Oliver rolled his eyes.

"Shut up. You look fine." Elio shouldn't have been repressing a grin at that response, because fine wasn't really a compliment, but he couldn't help the leap that his stomach gave. It was thrilling for a moment, and then it turned sour, because Oliver didn't mean anything by his comment, and if he did, it was the type of thing he should be saying to Chiara. Elio looked away from Oliver and found Chiara busy speaking to Marzia and Stephen. He was glad that she hadn't heard that. He shouldn't be glad.

"Did _you_ sleep?" He was back to tapping his foot.

"Like a baby. Why, does it not look like it?" He mimicked. It was Elio's turn to roll his eyes, but a smile accompanied the action. He turned to the side to greet Chiara, and then insisted that they make their way inside. The queue for tickets was long. They made meaningless conversation to occupy the time they spent waiting, but Elio's heart wasn't in it. Of course it wasn't, it was somewhere else. He stole a quick glance at Oliver. Again. After about twenty minutes, they found themselves sat in the back of the dimly lit room with popcorn and soda. Elio was staring vacantly at the screen, which was flashing with a trailer that was doing a poor job of persuading people to watch whatever movie was being promoted. He was sat furthest from the exit, next to Chiara. He made a silent prayer that Chiara and Oliver were still in the talking stage, because he wasn't sure that he could endure any making out. The lights dimmed further, signalling the beginning of the movie. The din of hushed chatter stopped abruptly as everyone's eyes were drawn forward. It took a few minutes for Elio to grow used to the blaring volume, but soon enough he was enraptured by the screen before him. Well, perhaps enraptured was an overstatement. Adequately distracted was better. It wasn't great, nor was it terrible, but he guessed that they weren't really here for the movie. He had just been dragged along so it seemed like less of a date, and was therefore less awkward. He thought it was a stupid idea to go on a date to the theater. You couldn't speak the whole time, so what was the purpose? You couldn't figure out if you hated the person you were dating without speaking to them.

At least they hadn't chosen to watch a romance movie. He could have stomached, or possibly even enjoyed one on any other day if he wasn't in the company of two couples. One of those couples being the couple that he was striving to ignore the existence of. They were about three quarters of the way through, by estimation, when Elio realised that he had no idea what had been going on. He had been staring at a rip in the seat in front of him for the last fifteen minutes or so, and had completely forgotten to follow the plot. When he looked around nothing was amiss but he felt sick to his stomach. Sinking down further into his seat, he tried to focus on the movie but found that every word spoken went through one ear and came out of the other. He couldn't even force himself to pay attention. A wave of mortification and guilt surged over him out of nowhere. He was fifth wheeling with his friends and his crush on a Saturday night because... why? He had probably been invited out of pity. He put his popcorn on the floor, sure that it would clump up in his throat and choke him if he were to take another mouthful. His eyes were starting to well up, only making things worse. He couldn't tell if they were tears of anger or humiliation. Probably both. There was nothing he could do to stop Chiara and Oliver getting together, but did he really have to sit next to them while they were literally on a date? He could put up with it, but he didn't want a front row seat. He stood up, feeling suffocated. Being in the same room as them at that moment was unbearable. Anywhere else would do, just not here. In a hurry, he turned to walk towards the exit but accidentally kicked his popcorn over on the way. He cursed under his breath and tried to shuffle past his friends.

"Sorry, sorry... Shit!" He stepped on someone's toe. "Sorry." He made eye contact with Marzia on his way past and regretted it immediately. His emotions must have been plain to see on his face. He turned his head resolutely and made for the door, refusing to look back. His stomach was still churning with distaste for his situation and he was praying for the tears in his eyes to mystically evaporate. A chair creaked behind him as he opened the door, followed by whispering. If anyone followed him it was going to be so fucking embarrassing. After all the darkness, the bright lights of the corridor temporarily blinded him. He was gambling all of his dignity on the hope that the bathroom would be empty.

**Oliver's POV**

Marzia stood up immediately after Elio left, already in pursuit mode. Oliver stood as well and touched her shoulder. 

"Wait." He whispered harshly. She turned to glare at him, most likely wanting to find Elio as quickly as possible. "You won't be able to get into the bathroom."

"I'm not following him," she whispered back, making a terrible effort to lie- probably for the sake of Elio's dignity. Oliver had seen his face when he passed them. He clearly wasn't leaving to use the bathroom for conventional means.

"I saw," he said, hoping Marzia understood. She did, and her face softened. Oliver was glad that she seemed to trust him enough to allow him to follow Elio rather than going after him herself. He looked down at Stephen and Chiara as he passed, who both looked confused. Good. He was sure that Elio would be embarrassed if everyone was concerned. He went in search of the bathroom in a hurry, trying his best to adjust to the harsh white light in the corridor. 

** Elio's POV **

He found the bathroom eventually. It was completely vacant but he still stormed over to one of the stalls, slamming the door and leaning his back against it. He still felt vaguely nauseous, but not enough to actually throw up. With his arms clutching at his sides, he scowled at the brown tiled floor. It sounded childish, but he wanted to go home. He wanted to sit in the library and get lost in some fictional world and pretend that Oliver and Chiara were not on a date at that very moment. Or maybe he would go to bed and hope that thoughts of them together didn't keep him up. His parents would still be awake, he could sit with them and talk about something, anything, to take his mind off of it all. He didn't know how he had been so resigned to it before now. He wished he felt that way again, because the burning humiliation with a side of resentment was not treating him well. The humiliation was understandable, but the resentment? Who was it for? What good could it do? The only people that knew about his feelings were himself and Marzia, so he couldn't be angry at Chiara or Oliver for anything; they didn't mean any harm. He wasn't angry at Chiara, he found, when he examined his feelings. He was, however, just on the short side of fuming with Oliver, though he couldn't say why. He had been so friendly, one may even say flirtatious, with Elio. It was probably just Oliver's naturally kind disposition, and Elio couldn't blame him for that. But he did blame him. When he thought about it logically, he knew there was no reason to blame Oliver for doing something that he was unaware of, but then when he switched the lens from logic to emotion, he started to loathe him. He even harboured a bit of animosity towards Marzia, because she had insisted that there were deeper meanings behind Oliver's actions. He thought he was over all of this. He thought he could finally see the fun in picking apart Oliver's actions and imagining them in a different light without letting himself get his hopes up. Maybe he would be over it again tomorrow, when some time had served as a salve for the ailment that was Oliver and Chiara's date. Right now, however, he was in a foul mood. With everyone. Except Stephen, and maybe Chiara. Maybe. 

He tipped his head back against the door and breathed deeply. Clenching his jaw, he opened the cubicle and went to wash his hands. The water was cold, and it helped to distract him from the warmth of chagrin and mild rage that had been heating his cheeks. He kept his hands under the running faucet for much longer than necessary, staring at himself up-close in the mirror. His hot breath had started to fog up his reflection when the bathroom door groaned and gave way to the unwelcome form of Oliver. Elio didn't move. He continued to wash his hands as if he hadn't been running them under water for the past few minutes. He was feeling petty, so he still refused to acknowledge Oliver's presence as he dried his hands with a paper towel- quite excessively- and threw it in the trash can tucked under the row of sinks. When there was nothing else left to do, he turned on his heel and looked at Oliver with a blank face.

"Are you-" Oliver began. Elio cut him off immediately.

"If you finish that sentence I might actually..." he wasn't sure exactly what he'd do, so he let his tangible annoyance fill the space of the few missing words. "We already spoke about this. You ask too much."

"Fine. You start."

"I'm fi-"

"Elio." His voice was stern and it made adrenaline surge through Elio's veins. He tried to ignore the physical reaction and instead focused on the ever-present irritation.

"What?"

"Like you said, we already spoke about this. If you want me to stop asking, you have to tell the truth." He was right. They had agreed to communicate better, but Elio had no place to start. He wasn't allowed to say that he was fine anymore.

"I just needed to use the bathroom," he said with an unconvincing air of lightness. He sounded stupid even to himself. "Nothing's wrong, I don't know why you followed me." A new way to say 'I'm fine'. 

"Yeah, right. I saw your face when you walked out. Marzia would have followed you but she knew you were coming to the bathroom so she couldn't come in. So, I'm not following you just because I have the overbearing urge to ask you if you're okay every twenty minutes. I'm following you because I know you're not okay, and Marzia clearly trusts me enough to let me handle it, so you can trust me too." This was another time when Elio wished Oliver was as stupid as he originally assumed he would be. He couldn't find any loopholes in Oliver's reasoning. Barely even any wiggle room.

"I can't tell you." He running out of knee-jerk excuses. He had already said that to Oliver at the charity event last night. 

"Is that true or is it just another excuse to pretend like nothing's wrong?" Elio put some thought into it. It's not like telling Oliver about his burdensome attraction to him was forbidden. A very brave and smart person might have told Oliver about it, so Oliver knew to give them some time and space to get over it, but Elio was not feeling very brave or smart. His eyes were welling up again for whatever reason. He felt stupid. Ridiculous. Small.

"It's true. I can't tell you, and even if I could tell you, maybe I don't want to. That's a valid excuse. I'm not obligated to tell you anything. I am my own person and I'm allowed to have secrets."

Oliver seemed taken aback for a second, and Elio almost felt rude for standing his ground, but then the surprised expression was replaced by a placid one. "You're right, you don't have to tell me, but I still want to help. Is it a family issue or something? Is there anything I can do?" Elio smiled grimly at the idea of Oliver trying to help. The only thing he could do to help was either leave him alone completely or reciprocate Elio's feelings. One option was reasonable, the other was not.

"No, its not family stuff." He didn't want Oliver to worry for his family. "It's just very complicated and telling you would probably make it worse, as I said last night." Nothing he had said was a lie. For some stupid, terrible, no-good reason, he voice betrayed him and broke mid sentence. He wasn't even that upset at the moment, but his eyes were still threatening to spill over. Perhaps it was because with just a few words he could tell the truth, but he knew the truth would do no good. Oliver's eyebrows drew in and he became the epitome of empathy. He outstretched his arms and shit, he was offering a hug.

Now, how many times had Elio imagined hugging Oliver? Too many times to be dignified, was the answer. Crying whilst hugging him was never the plan. Elio stared at his open arms, weighing every pro and con. Was this weird? He hadn't really had any close guy friends. Did they hug? Elio was too angry at him to hug him right now. He was _meant_ to be angry. Oliver, apparently seeing the conflict on Elio's face, made an insistent gesture. His restrain buckled as he folded himself into the open arms. He wrapped his arms around Oliver's back, who in turn folded his arms around Elio's neck. It was strangely comforting to have your head hugged, Elio concluded. The embrace was warm and soft and overwhelmingly _right._ A few of the tears that he had been trying to repress since he left the screen room spilled onto his cheeks and down his nose. There was a hearty sob ready and waiting in his throat, but he wasn't willing to embarrass himself that much, so he tensed his jaw and willed his throat to stop constricting. He had exactly what he wanted in his arms, but not for long. The tears continued to flow steadily, and it was now taking an exceptional amount of effort to repress the heaving of his chest. There was nothing he could do about the ache. He settled for a sniffle instead. The inner monologue switched off for a second as he let himself enjoy the moment. Elio's forehead was pressed against Oliver's neck and for a second he went rigid, trying not to tickle him with his breath but he relaxed when Oliver tucked his chin to the side and rested it on Elio's head, sheltering him further with his body. 

"So you're upset about the same thing as last night? And you still can't tell me?" Elio could feel Oliver's chest vibrate as he spoke.

"Kind of. Same thing but worse. And no, I can't tell you."

"Ever?"

"Maybe one day." Lie. "Why are you hugging me?" Elio asked like an idiot, a complete buffoon. He was still trying to sound annoyed. Oliver guffawed. Apparently it was a funny question.

"Because you were upset. Would you rather I punch you on the shoulder and call you 'bro'? Is that your preferred method of consolation?" 

"No." He feared he was letting too much slip with that simple admission, but he put it all down to overthinking. They stood in their embrace for, well, who knows how long? When Elio found himself actively trying not to stroke his thumb over Oliver's back, he decided it was time to step away. He sighed and stepped out of Oliver's arms, immediately feeling colder. There was no awkwardness, surprisingly. It was so difficult to stay angry at him. They stared for a second, neither one of them daring to speak. Oliver did, eventually.

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do to help?" He asked, eyes filled with unbridled tenderness. Did he even know how he looked right now?

"I'm sure. I appreciate the thought, but we should probably get back to the others. Sorry I made you miss part of the movie. Oh my God, I made you miss part of your date." He cringed at the word 'date', not sure if they were actually considering it a date or not. 

"It's okay. Chiara would understand." Oliver must have sensed Elio's sudden horror. "Don't worry, she doesn't know why you left. She probably just thinks that you needed to use the bathroom."

"Why would you follow me if I was just going to use the bathroom." He quirked a brow, trying to lighten up the mood a bit. They pushed open the bathroom door and started their stroll back to where they were meant to be.

"I'll figure out a reasonable excuse."

"Thanks. For... well, everything." He didn't want to sound cliché, but he also didn't want to immortalise the hug with words.

"You don't have to thank me for doing the bare minimum. I would be a terrible friend if I didn't check on you."

"Well I'm going to thank you anyway." Oliver grinned at him as he pushed the door to the screening room open. They were engulfed by the darkness.

***

"Well that was..." Stephen was clearly trying to find a reasonable way to finish his sentence. 

"It was kind of shit," Elio supplied. His four friends laughed in agreement. The rain had stopped and the sky had cleared, leaving beams of moonlight to shine down without interruption from clouds.

"What time is it?" Chiara asked, pulling her sleeves down past her hands as they stepped into the open night air. Elio pulled his phone out of his pocket and squinted at the bright screen. 

"Ten twenty-four."

"We should get ice cream," Marzia declared.

"It's freezing," Oliver protested. As if that would stop Marzia.

"And?" She stared up at him as if he didn't give a reasonable argument. Elio didn't contribute to their discussion on whether or not to get ice cream. At that moment he was marvelling at how well they all got along as a group. He had expected there to be some slight degree of separation, but they all fit together perfectly. Oliver and Marzia were going back and forth on whether it was too cold or too late or if an ice cream shop would even be open right now. Marzia won. They made the short walk further into town and found that the ice cream shop on the high street was, in fact, closed. They set course for a small independent fast food restaurant instead, determined to make the night last just a little bit longer. It was surprisingly empty for a Saturday night. The fluorescent lights gave the diner the feeling of an alternate dimension. It didn't feel like night or day anymore. It just felt like _then_.

As he sat at their chosen corner table waiting for Chiara and Oliver to return with their order, Elio felt glad that he had had some outlet of emotion earlier. He still wasn't particularly fond of watching his friends flirt while he tried to stay out of the way, but he wasn't as consumed by the desire to escape and pretend as if nothing was happening as he had been. He could put up with it for a while longer tonight. Chiara and Oliver returned with their bounty, and as they took their seats the group broke off into smaller conversations. Marzia and Chiara were talking about Marzia's mysterious older sister who had made it out of their small town and was rarely seen other than on holidays and occasional visits. Stephen had roped Oliver into a conversation about the school sport teams or more precisely, why Oliver hadn't signed up for any of them yet. Elio tuned in on each conversation from time to time, too uninterested to contribute to either. Oliver was making his way through a decent list of excuses when Elio's name was brought up.

"Well, Elio isn't involved in any of it either. You can't just pick on me," Oliver raised the palms of his hands as if he was extricating himself from the spotlight and turning it toward Elio, who glowered.

"Team sport isn't really my thing," he said to Stephen.

"What about Track?" Stephen asked.

"I don't like to run competitively."

"God, I'm so screwed," huffed Stephen, resting his chin in his hands. Oliver and Elio glanced at each other in confusion. "The coach has been on my ass about getting other people to sign up for stuff. He won't leave me alone."

Elio smiled sympathetically and apologized.

"So if you're not participating in team sports in your free time, what _do_ you do?" Oliver queried. "We don't see you outside of school very often."

Immediately, Elio was wondering who 'we' was. Who was Oliver spending his free time with? Did he even want to know? If it was Chiara, definitely not. "Oh, I don't know. This and that," was his vague reply. Oliver rolled his eyes.

"Really, what do you do?" Stephen seemed intrigued now as well. His chin was still in his hand but he was looking at Elio expectantly. The attention was making him uncomfortable. He scratched the nape of his neck. Suddenly, he had forgotten any hobby that he had ever had.

"Uh, well. I play the piano, I guess?" He sounded stupid. He hadn't been playing since childhood just to belittle himself now. "I read, and... well, just the usual stuff really." Neither Oliver or Stephen seemed dissatisfied with his answer, but he could still feel the blush creeping into his cheeks.

"You'll have to play for me some time," Oliver requested nonchalantly. Now the blush was _flooding_ into his cheeks. He couldn't think of enough sarcastic remarks.

"Will I really?" Elio raised his eyebrows, mocking Oliver's insistence. 

"Yep. So Stephen..." Elio's focus dissolved as Oliver started to speak to Stephen again. Under what circumstance would Elio play for Oliver? He felt ridiculous for it, but he was already imagining what he could play for him. He continued to eat his ice cream that he had forgotten about previously and chipped in on Marzia and Chiara's conversation. When they all started to speak as a group again, Elio provided a few words and cracked the occasional joke, but other than that he was quiet and still, too immersed in his own thoughts. He was exhausted by the time they cleared the table despite the fact that he had slept for most of that day. A full night of sleep would be a godsend.

The small group of friends trudged through the night to the theatre parking lot, where they dispersed and each went their own different way. Well, Chiara did. She was picked up by her mother. Oliver's plans to get a cab or and Uber were foiled when Marzia insisted that she would drive him home. That's how Elio ended up sitting tensely with one knee pulled up to his chin in the dark backseat of the car as Marzia and Stephen talked quietly over the buzz of the radio. He couldn't see much, but every so often Oliver's face would be illuminated as they passed a streetlight. He was staring. When was he not? This would have been fine if Oliver hadn't turned and caught Elio's eye, catching him in the act of staring. He was unable to look away. Either way he would look weird. Maybe he could say that Oliver had something on his face, and that he was simply distracted by that and not Oliver's stealthy beauty that crept up on you in quiet, dark moments such as that one. Neither of them said a word. Elio kept staring, Oliver kept staring. It felt like there were silent words passing between them on the current of electricity that was charging the air. Only when Elio let his gaze fall did the electricity fade. It never completely disappeared, but it weakened. When they pulled up outside of Oliver's house, Oliver gave a perfunctory farewell and smiled politely at Elio before clambering out and leaving them. He didn't even touch him. He shouldn't have expected him to touch him, but he couldn't help it. He would have to savor their hug from earlier. With the electricity gone now, Elio felt as if the life had been sucked out of him. He barely made it to his bed before falling asleep that night.


	8. Ducks Have it Easier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shed load of truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it has been two weeks?? Who knows. I probably should know. Anyway, thank you as always for staying with me, I know it must get tedious. I saw a comment on the last update about how someone had been thinking of this story around the time that I updated, and for some reason knowing that my work has real influence made me the happiest I have been in a long time. Thank you all for continuously making my days better. If no one has told you this today, and even if someone has told you, you are loved.

**Elio's POV**

Elio was curled up on one of the stout leather sofas in the library, gazing with unseeing eyes at the wall opposite him. The pages of the book that he had been reading were fanning out as his grip loosened. At that moment, he was lost in thought. The wall before him was blurring, and he knew this, but he was too content to bring himself back to the real world. He was thinking about Oliver, of course, but it was different this time. There was no thrill, no daydream, no rush of adrenaline. There was a slight tug to his heart, but other than that, nothing. He had been spending more time with Oliver recently. They had attended a few charity events together as part of the programme that they had signed up to, which was fine as it was expected. What was not expected was the time they would spend together before and after said charity events. Elio would go to Oliver's house, or Oliver would go to Elio's house, and they would watch TV or play some kind of video game or just talk. Elio did eventually play the piano for Oliver. It wasn't as daunting as Elio had expected it to be, and Oliver sat in a daze for a few seconds before complimenting him excessively. In the moment, it had made Elio blush and stutter, but when he thought back to it now he was unaffected. Maybe the long periods of exposure to Oliver had made him immune, or maybe the fact that Oliver had also been spending a lot of time with Chiara had forced him to accept reality. Whatever had caused this indifference, he was thankful for it. He could be friends with Oliver now without suffering for it. Truth be told, it wasn't total indifference. His heart still gave a faint leap occasionally, but it was like watching burning embers die out. Perhaps it was just the afterglow. 

**Oliver's POV**

Oliver was sat in the living room staring into a mug of tea his grandmother had made him when his phone lit up with a text. He glanced over at the bright screen, deciding whether he should answer or just leave it for a while. The screen dimmed and then turned off automatically, giving him his answer. He took a sip of the tea and raised his gaze towards his grandmother, who was perching on the arms of one of the armchairs and scribbling something down in a notepad. Probably a shopping list. 

"I'm going to the store, do you need anything?" She asked, standing up and making her way to the coat rack. 

"No, thanks."

"Alright. I won't be too long," she assured him, blowing a kiss before closing the door behind her. He smiled for a few seconds, took another sip of tea, and then picked up his phone. The text was from Chiara. 

**CHIARA:**

Morning :) are you doing anything today?

He checked the time. It was around half past ten and he wasn't dressed yet. He sighed and frowned at the text. It wasn't that he didn't want to spend time with her. In fact, it was almost always fun, but the dread that accompanied their outings unnerved him. The more time they spent together as a couple (because he assumed that's pretty much what they were now) the more he felt like it was all wrong. It wasn't overwhelmingly terrible. He could carry on if he wanted, he could settle, but he knew that Chiara was worth more than just settling for. She deserved something better than what he could give, and he felt terrible about it. He shouldn't have let it get this far, but every time he thought about putting an end to it Chiara would smile and say something beautiful and he convinced himself that it was okay. It wasn't okay. He loved her, but it was entirely platonic and there was nothing he could do to change that. With another hearty sigh he started to type out his reply. Maybe today was the day he would come clean.

**OLIVER:**

No

You wanna hang out?

**CHIARA:**

Yeah, be ready in about an hour?

**OLIVER:**

Alright, see you soon.

Oliver got up, got ready, and was standing by the door with the car keys by half past eleven. 

"I'm going out, is that alright?" He asked his grandmother who was on her way down the stairs.

"Yeah, where are you going?" 

"I don't know. I'm just going to hang out with Chiara."

"Have fun," she said from the bottom of the stairs before ducking into the laundry room. He crossed over to the front door and stepped out into the bright spring morning. He got to Chiara's in just under ten minutes and waited outside for her to join him. She eventually came skipping over the lawn looking so beautiful that he cursed himself for the lack of attraction he felt. As she hopped into the car, he was glad that she decided against the perfunctory greeting kiss. It would make him feel too guilty. Instead, she just grinned at him and he smiled back.

"So, where to?" He queried as she pulled her seatbelt on.

"I don't know, I was just bored," she sighed happily, staring at the road ahead of them.

"Well, are you hungry?"

"I could eat."

That's how they ended up parked in a gravel lot staring out onto a wide pond with a selection of junk food from the store. It was too big to be a pond, really, and too small to be a lake, so perhaps 'nondescript body of water' would have fit it better. They climbed out of the car with the bag of food and made their way down to the well trodden path winding its way around the nondescript body of water. The sun was beating down determinedly, trying its best to warm the spring afternoon. It wasn't doing too bad of a job; it was only cold in the shade. They walked and talked until they found a bench out of the shadow of the trees that loomed over the edges of the path. 

"God, I'm so not ready for Monday," Chiara huffed, collapsing down onto the bench. It was only Saturday and Oliver had been trying his best to not think of school.

"Thanks for reminder," he said sarcastically, nudging her and grinning when she elbowed him back. 

"Sorry. It's not that bad. You've just gotta hang on to the weekends."

"I was trying to before you mentioned Monday."

She laughed and proceeded to open a bag of chips that they shared in silence, watching a few ducks slide over the glassy surface of the water. Oliver chucked a chip over for them and they came flocking. Soon the air was filled with the sounds of demanding honks and flapping wings as the animals fought for food. Chiara and Oliver laughed at the scene before them and fed the winged beasts until they lost interest and swam away.

"Being a duck would be fun," Chiara lamented, causing Oliver to guffaw at her strange comment.

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't know. They just seem like they have fun. You wouldn't have much to worry about as a duck." Oliver snorted again, causing Chiara to look at him and smile.

"What's worrying you so much that you've decided you'd rather be a duck?"

"Nothing. I'd just like the peace of it all," she gestured vaguely to the water before them.

"Right." They sat in a comfortable silence for a while before continuing their walk. Their steps synchronized and when their knuckles brushed for the third time, Oliver took her hand in his and hoped that they could still do this after he confessed everything to her. He hoped to God she wouldn't hate him. Their conversation bordered on the mundane as they walked, but it was warm and familiar and comfortable. There was no place for him to wedge in a little 'By the way, I can't do this anymore because I'm almost certain that I'm gay'. It was selfish of him to hope that he would never have to say it. 

Alas, the opportunity arose as they came to stop in front of the car. They stood in silence instead of separating to go their own sides of the vehicle, and Oliver was sure that she was going to kiss him. It wouldn't have been some terrible thing. They had kissed, and he was fine with it, but that was all. It felt like nothing every time. He was sure that kissing someone you were dating should not feel just 'fine'. Kissing her now while knowing that he had to break up with her would be a shitty thing to do. However, she made no move. Suddenly, she looked so tired. She ducked her head and passed her hand over her face.

"We should go," she mumbled before stepping away and opening the car door. Oliver felt a pit open up in his stomach, as if he had already said the words that he couldn't take back. He got into the car and fumbled with the key before he felt a warm hand on his bicep.

"Oliver..." she sighed. "I think we need to talk."

"Okay," he nodded, feeling as if the tables had been turned. 

"I really like spending time with you, and I think you're really great and all, but..."

"It's not really working, is it?" He finished her sentence.

"Well, I wouldn't say it's not working, but it's not right." 

He nodded and settled his hands in his lap. This whole thing was a lot less anxiety-inducing now that he knew she felt the same.

"So you feel the same way?" she asked, sounding slightly hopeful. So _this_ was where the anxiety set in. He would have to explain himself. His girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend now, would be the first person he was coming out to.

"This is going to sound very childish, but can you promise not to get mad at me? If you hate me I can just drop you off at home and we can never speak of this again, but I want you to know I never had any bad intentions." Chiara was visibly apprehensive, but she nodded nonetheless. "I'm gay. I think. Well I'm pretty sure actually." That was it. The bomb had been dropped. Not very gracefully, but it still counted for something. He searched Chiara's face for disgust or anger, but instead he saw a small, warm smile start to blossom. "Wait, wait, I'm not done. I don't want you to think that I was just using you as an experiment or a coverup. I thought that maybe I was just bi at first, and I was so sure that I was attracted to you, but I was wrong. You're so beautiful and funny and smart, but I realise now that I think I just wanted to be your friend." He admitted this somewhat embarrassedly, because surely he should have been able to tell the difference between romantic and platonic feelings.

"Oliver, I'm not mad. Not at all. I can't claim that I knew, but I'm certainly not angry at you about it. Never in a million years would I believe that you were using me. You're too kind for that, and you're not smart enough." They both grinned at the dig. "Could you promise not to be mad at me?" Oliver raised his brows in surprise. Was she implying what he thought she was implying? "Wait, I'm not gay too," she hurriedly confessed. 

"Oh."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not. Anyway, don't get angry. I didn't use you, or if I did, it wasn't consciously. I think I wanted to prove to myself that I actually wanted a steady long-term relationship, and the truth is I don't. I've spent a lot of time in pointless relationships growing up and I think I just got so used to it that I couldn't handle being alone anymore, and then you roll around and it's like a chance for a good first impression that hasn't been tainted by seeing me date all these other guys, so I took it. But I don't think I need a relationship right now. I think I need to learn how to be happy alone."

Oliver smiled, because he was genuinely happy for her and impressed by her strength. "I'm glad you're taking time for yourself. A lot of people would just say fuck it and stick to what makes them happy in the moment, rather than choosing what will make them happy in the long run."

"Thanks. Well, I'm glad that we're both getting out of this free of harm. It would have been awkward if it was messy, you know, since we have the same friends and all. Hey, at least now Elio won't be the only single one." A lump formed in Oliver's throat at the mention of Elio. He had been trying to keep him out of all this so it didn't seem like Elio was the reason behind everything. Well, he was part of the reason. He forced a laugh and agreed, turning the keys to ignition and beginning to reverse.

"So," Chiara started while Oliver was still trying keep the burn of the irony at bay, "Has anyone caught your eye?" Oliver choked.

"I can't ask you that question so you can't ask me," he reasoned.

"For completely different reasons! You could ask me, but you know that the answer would be no." Oliver glared at her and then felt remorseful when she began to look guilty. "I realise now that that might be kind of an awkward question to ask."

"No, its fine, I was only joking," he reassured her.

"Okay, so? Anyone?"

He shouldn't have encouraged her. He turned to look at her, the pit in his stomach growing, and then tucked his tucked his tongue into his cheek and looked back at the road. It wouldn't be a good idea to tell her. She wasn't mad, but she might be if he told her this.

"Oh, I see," she smirked. "Must I invoke my great powers of deduction?" She asked in what she must have thought was a wizard-like voice. 

"I don't have faith in your powers of deduction. Also, I'm not playing a school-wide game of Guess Who."

"So it's out of everyone in school. Interesting." He glared at her in disbelief. He didn't mind as much as he let on. He had already told her his biggest secret, and he doubted she would get to his second one.

"Chiara, this is going to be very embarrassing for the both of us."

"Not me, I have no shame." She launched into a full-scale attack, going through lists and lists of names, many of which he didn't even know. By the time he pulled up outside of her house, he was laughing. Well, he was until he turned to look at her. She had a small, reserved smile on her face which struck terror into Oliver's heart.

"What?" he frowned.

"Elio." Oliver coughed and spluttered and tried to laugh.

"That's the most absurd suggestion yet! You've gotten so far through your list that-"

"I knew from the start, Oliver. I think I might have known even when we were dating."

"No. I don't- He isn't-"

" Don't try to insult him to cover it up," she warned him.

"I wouldn't. Ever."

"Good. Oliver you don't have to confirm or deny it. This is going to sound really cliché, but I see the way you look at him."

Oliver huffed and sunk down in his seat. "It doesn't matter. I won't do anything about it. I think you've got it all right with your approach. I think I need to spend time by myself. Just until I figure everything out."

Chiara frowned. "I don't think anyone would be angry at you if you ever asked him out, you know. If that's what you're worried about."

"Duly noted, but I won't ask him out. I don't know if he's straight or not."

"Hm. Neither do I. He's closest with Marzia, she'd probably know." The idea intrigued him, but he put a stop to it. 

"Don't ask her. It's none of our business."

"Alright." There was a rustle of a coat, and then Oliver found himself wrapped in Chiara's warm embrace. He hugged her back fiercely, willing his eyes not to well up. When she pulled back, he kissed her on the cheek, which she returned. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." She opened the door and slid out before stopping abruptly and turning to him. "I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to. If you aren't ready, I mean-"

"It's fine. I don't think it'll come up in conversation much, but you can tell Marzia and Stephen. And Elio. Only if it comes up, though. If someone has to tell them outright I would rather it was me telling them."

"Okay."

"Oh, and please don't tell anyone about Elio. I think it's best to keep that one under wraps."

Chiara bit her lip and then nodded before closing the door, waving, and then heading inside. Oliver sat still for a few minutes before driving away.

***

He had a decision to make when he parked up outside of his house. He could go in, pretend everything was normal, and continue to play the role of the perfect grandson. Alternatively, he could continue this streak of honesty at the risk of losing respect from the only family member he cared about. He didn't know whether his grandmother was homophobic or not, and it felt like he was running a big risk. What's the worst that could happen? She could disapprove, but he couldn't imagine that she would kick him out. He loved her too much to lie to her for any longer, but he also loved her too much to risk disappointing her. Which would it be?

A few minutes later, he was marching into the house with his head held high, putting on a brave face. Actually, that was an exaggeration. He was dragging his feet and he was trying to make himself seem as small as possible.

"Grandma?" He shouted as he stepped into the house, trying to locate her whereabouts. She emerged from the hallway while folding a white, fluffy-looking towel. Her smile dropped when she saw him. He must have looked like a cowering dog for her to stare at him like that.

"What's wrong?" She asked, rushing forwards and depositing the towel on the kitchen island. "Did you crash the car?"

"No, I didn't crash the car," he laughed breathily, despite not finding any humour in the situation at all. "Can we talk?"

"Of course we can talk, darling," she guided him to the sofa. "Do you want tea? Coffee?"

"No, thanks. I just need to talk to you about something."

"God, is someone pregnant?"

He genuinely laughed at that, because it couldn't have been further from the truth. "No one is pregnant, Grandma."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll stop guessing, but tell me. You've got me nervous." She folded her hands in her lap and looked at him intently. He couldn't return her gaze, so he stared at his own hands, which he had been unconsciously wringing.

"I'm not really sure how to tell you this. Please don't be angry." His grandmother opened her mouth to speak, but decided against it. "I'm gay, Grandma. I'm sorry." Once again, he couldn't meet her eyes.

"Oh honey, don't apologize for that. I could never be mad at you for that." She grasped at his fidgeting hands.

"Are you angry?" He asked despite her reassurance that she wasn't.

"I promise I'm not angry. I'm happy. I'm so happy you feel comfortable enough to tell me the truth."

"But dad-"

"Is a piece of shit." Oliver raised his eyebrows at her. "The judgement of a man like him holds no value. He has no authority to judge you." There was a fierce passion behind her eyes and in her voice.

"Did you already know? I mean, its the whole reason I'm living with you in the first place."

"I knew bits and pieces. Nothing was ever said explicitly, and I didn't want to make assumptions until you were comfortable enough to tell me yourself."

"Oh. Okay. I don't want you to think any differently of me, though."

"I promise you nothing has changed. Did you really think I would hate you for this?"

"I don't know. It's just hard when you realise that you're not what everyone wants you to be." He met her eyes as he admitted this, and consequently saw the storm brewing in them.

"My love, the only thing I have ever wanted you to be is happy." A dry sob heaved up from his chest, and he felt like a child as she cradled him and stroked his hair, but he was okay with that. Pain that he didn't even know he was harbouring clawed its way out of him. He was left raw and entirely empty by the time the his throat stopped constricting. "I am so sorry that you had to live with the pain of expecting people to hate you for who you really are. Nobody deserves that, least of all you, but I want you to know that I will never stop loving you, Oliver. Never," She mumbled into his hair, still rocking the two of them back and forth. 

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too."

They sat in their embrace for a while until Oliver took her up on the tea that she had offered. When they both had hot drinks in their hands, they turned the TV on and watched some complete and utter nonsense. Oliver was tired. So tired. He left to take a nap after about an hour, and as he climbed into bed he, he finally felt some kind of inner peace. For once, he was living his truth.

**Elio's POV**

Elio gave up on watching TV. It was dark out now and nothing could appease the boredom that had him in its grip. He was on his way to his bedroom when his phone buzzed in his back pocket. The only person he had texted at all that day was Marzia, and it had been about homework. Maybe she was bored, too, and wanted to speak to him. He had been meaning to tell her about some woman who had been incredibly rude to him when he was in the store earlier. He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he flopped backwards onto his bed. It lit up with a name that no longer tied his stomach up in knots. 

**OLIVER:**

What are you doing tomorrow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I know that writing about two people in a small town coming out without any negative consequences is idealistic, but nowhere in those tags does it say realism. I'm here for escapism, thank you very much. Also sorry if there are any mistakes, I should really be asleep but I wanted to update tonight rather than waiting until tomorrow. Much love, because you all deserve it.


	9. Coffee and Toast Kind of Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So close and yet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so it has been a month? I think??? I never forgot about it, I'm just perpetually overwhelmed recently. ANYWAY,, I am so sorry for leaving this on a kind of cliff-hanger for so long, I would be revolting in the comments if I were you guys right now, I'm so thankful for your patience and for that one person begging me to come back. I can't remember who it was, but thank you for your reminders.

**Elio's POV**

**OLIVER:**

_What are you doing tomorrow?_

Elio chewed his lip as he crossed the threshold to his bedroom and sat down. What _was_ he doing tomorrow? 

**ELIO:**

_Nothing that I know of_

_Why?_

**OLIVER:**

_Come over in the morning?_

**ELIO:**

_Any specific time?_

**OLIVER:**

_Whenever you want_

_I'll be in all day_

**ELIO:**

_Okay_

_Any plans or are we just sitting around for the day_

**OLIVER:**

_Sitting around_

_Unless you had something in mind_

_My plan was to do absolutely nothing_

E **LIO:**

_Doing absolutely nothing sounds good to me_

**OLIVER:**

_Good_

**ELIO:**

_Good_

**OLIVER:**

_Great_

_Gtg, I'm about to shower_

**ELIO:**

_See you tomorrow, then_

**OLIVER:**

_See ya_

Elio squinted at the glowing screen for a few seconds longer and then put his phone down. So that was his morning all planned out. He puffed up his cheeks and sighed, mustering up any energy he had left to get up and brush his teeth. It wasn't that late, but all he wanted was to lay down where he was sitting and fall asleep. It wouldn't take long. He would probably be out as soon as his head hit the pillow, but he knew better than to neglect the nightly routine. 

***

Elio woke up earlier than he had hoped he would the next morning. Granted, he got ten hours of sleep but it felt as if he had had a mere two. He dragged himself up and sat on the edge of his bed. Spending the day with Oliver wouldn't be bad. He had done it before. It would be even easier now that he didn't care for Oliver as he once did. Two friends. Hanging out. Doing whatever boy friends- no, friends that happen to be boys- do. He was definitely overthinking it. As he unplugged his phone from the charger, he realised that this must be one of those waves of longing from a part of him that missed the past. The part that craved the thrill of having a silly little crush on someone. The rational part of him was not so sadistic as to invest his emotions in a relationship with no potential. He hoped.

There was nothing new on his phone. No messages, no calls, no ground-breaking piece of news that circulated the internet while he was sleeping. A regular coffee and toast kind of morning. It was just past nine, and Elio was in no rush. He didn't want to seem eager. As he shuffled blearily down the stairs, the muffled tones of the radio drifted up to him from the kitchen. The house was warm and sunlight poured in through all of the front windows, painting the floor in buttery hues of yellow. The radio chatter grew louder as he stepped into the kitchen, where his father was holding a pen to his chin in one hand and a precariously tilting cup of coffee in the other. He looked up and mumbled a 'morning' to Elio, and then seconds later audibly remembered what had had him looking so confused. He scrawled out one word, maybe two, before setting the pen down triumphantly and whirling to face Elio who was raising his eyebrow at the theatrics. 

"Grocery list," Samuel clarified, and they both went about their business with that all cleared up. Elio made coffee, but passed on the toast in favour of a small stack of croissants on a plate on the dining table. So it _wasn't_ a regular coffee and toast kind of day, it was a croissant kind of day. He wasn't complaining. He sat down with his cup of coffee and scoffed down half of the pastry. With his immediate hunger quietened, he attempted to talk to his father who was now washing up the few plates that were in the sink. 

"Where did you get these from?" He gestured vaguely at the rest of the croissants with the half he had in his hand. Samuel turned to see what he was asking about, and then refocused on the dishes. 

"We bought them from the bakery in town earlier."

"Why didn't you buy groceries when you were out?" Elio queried through half-chewed croissant. His father shrugged.

"Anything you want from the store?"

"No," He shook his head and swallowed, despite the fact that his father's back was turned. "I'm going out in a while."

"Oh?" 

"Yeah, I'm going to Oliver's house. I don't think we're going out anywhere, though, so if you need me I'll be there."

"Oliver's house. Right." There was a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Yep." Elio _was_ going to eat another croissant, but now he was mildly uncomfortable. He felt terrible for thinking it, but sometimes he wished he hadn't yet come out to his parents. It was much easier when he could fly under the radar. Not that there was anything for the radar to pick up. His parents were much too suspicious these days. He took a second croissant out of spite- because he didn't want to let his father's wordless inquisition ruin his appetite- and devoured it as he stepped out into the garden through the patio doors in the kitchen. His mother was kneeling in the dirt, pulling out fistfuls of spindly weeds from an unruly flower bed. There was never any strict structure to their garden. Things grew how they wanted to, where they wanted to, but it had become tradition by now for his mother to purge the uglier, more tyrannical weeds every spring. 

"Hi mom."

"Elio, my darling, have you come to help me?" Elio, her darling, pressed his lips together and tried his best to look like he was considering it. His mother saw right through him, of course, and smiled wryly as she sat back on her feet. 

"Nice weather today," Elio mentioned, scrunching up his nose and squinting as he stared into the blue, almost cloudless sky. It was temperate. Warm in the sun, but the shade was chilling. 

"Yes, it'd be a shame to waste it. Are you doing anything today?" 

He was hoping against all hopes that she would just leave it alone when he replied: "Yeah, I'm going to Oliver's house." 

There was a slight raising of eyebrows. "Oliver's house. Nice. Are you two going out anywhere?" 

"Nope, I don't think so." 

A look of suspicion, barely concealed. "Oh, okay."

Elio went in for the kill. "Why are you both being so weird about it? I'm going to my _friend's_ house. When have I ever given the impression that we were anything more than friends?"

"You've been spending more time there recently," she picked at some lingering roots in the ground, no doubt trying to seem less invested in the conversation. Or maybe it was Elio that was invested in the conversation. Not important.

"That doesn't mean anything. There's nothing going on, and I don't really want to talk about it at the moment." There was no heat behind his voice, mostly just vague discomfort. 

"If you insist."

"I do." He stayed a few moments more, watching as she got back to wrenching the imposters from the ground, and then turned to go back inside. Some time around ten wouldn't seem too eager. Maybe eleven if he let his hair air-dry. 

***

It was close to eleven. Elio was clean, clothed, and his hair was dry. He sat at his window and looked down into the garden below. It was probably warmer outside now that it neared the afternoon, but he wasn't leaving the house without a sweater. He didn't want to end up cold, and as a result, drowning in one of Oliver's sweaters. He had learned his lesson. He dawdled on his way downstairs, pulling out his phone and leaving Oliver a simple 'omw' before stepping through the front door and actually getting on his way.

The walk was too short. Too short by far. So short, in fact, that it felt like teleporting. Perhaps that was just because of all the nervous anticipation that he filled the minutes of his journey with. He was walking up the driveway, knocking on the door, and greeting Oliver much too quickly.

"Hi," Oliver grinned, stepping away from the door to allow Elio to enter. 

"Hi."

There was a short, forgivable silence as they headed for the kitchen island and sat down. As always, Elio was enraptured by the splendour of the house. 

"Do you want anything to eat or drink?" Oliver asked, playing the role of a good and amiable host. He was already getting water out of the fridge for himself,

"No. Wait, are you having anything? Oh, never mind," the answer was obvious. "I'll just have what you're having." Oliver handed him a bottle of water with a quizzical expression sculpting his features. "I'm fine," Elio answered the question that Oliver wasn't allowed to ask anymore. "I'm just really tired." He rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm and yawned for good measure. It wasn't even an exaggeration, he really was tired.

"You didn't have to come over if you didn't get enough sleep." Oliver was twisting the cap off of his bottle as he made his way over to the sofa.

"Oh, I did. 10 hours actually." Elio was sliding off of the barstool to follow. He sat on the opposite end of the sofa, leaving a seat between them.

"Oh. Maybe you're ill or something." Elio was sure to cough on him dramatically. "Idiot," Oliver smirked.

They were quiet as Oliver switched between shows on the TV, trying to find anything worth watching. "Aren't you warm in that?" Oliver asked, presumably meaning Elio's sweater. 

"No," He hadn't actually been thinking about that. He was sure that he would be too warm in ten minutes, give or take, but it would seem strange to take off his sweater after saying that he wasn't too hot. "My body temperature seems to be one of your most constant concerns."

"Sue me for caring," Oliver rolled his eyes, but there was a faint trace of a smile on his lips. 

"I might. Depends on how much money I could get out of you." Another eye roll. They eventually settled reluctantly on watching some mediocre movie that just about captured their attention. Eventually, Elio gave up watching and turned in his seat to fix Oliver with a glare. 

"You have sighed at least six times in the past ten minutes. Is there something you'd like to say?"

"Have I? I didn't realise."

"I did."

"I'm bored."

"Me too."

"Get up. I'm showing you my attic."

Elio huffed out a laugh. "Is that where you keep the bodies?"

"Wha- Shut up," Oliver swatted for him but missed. Despite visiting his house more frequently recently, Elio had never been upstairs. It was nice to see that it lacked none of the novelty that downstairs possessed. The landing was a maelstrom of colour and texture, applied in all the right ways. Once again, he was reminded of the eccentricity or Mrs Wright. This eccentricity didn't seem to have been passed down to Oliver, who was substantially more... reserved. Elio would never describe Oliver as ordinary or plain, but he was not quite as loud as his grandmother. The landing had four doors, each of which most likely lead to a bedroom or a bathroom or other such boring things. He would have liked to have seen Oliver's bedroom. He had always thought that bedrooms were often a good representation of a person. A place where they express themselves. They reached the end of the landing, where Oliver used a pole to push the cover off of the hatch, and then pulled down a ladder. Elio allowed Oliver to climb up first, and then refused to look up the whole time Oliver was climbing out of respect. Or embarrassment. Or denial.

When he clambered up into the attic himself, he felt instantly at peace. There was a distinguished sense of 'old'. Not lavish antiquity or dilapidation. Just old. One may say it felt nostalgic. The gable roof made the room seem close and cramped, but not quite claustrophobic. The two little windows jutting out of the roof allowed in columns of light that illuminated the swirling motes of dust, rushing around like tiny comets. The room was not decorated like your usual attic. For one, it actually _was_ decorated, or at least furnished, instead of just being a storage space. There was a tired red sofa that every good old house has seen in its lifetime, with two equally tired armchairs next to it. The cushions were sunken and worn, but just enough to be considered as comfortable rather than trash. There was a ratty little circular rug put down before the couch that had definitely come up here to die, and a spindly side table between the couch and one of the armchairs. Everything else, other than the set of chairs and a sofa, were mismatched. There was a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, a coffee table pushed up against the wall, all of which were completely different shades of wood. A dated and imposing-looking record player sat on top of the chest of drawers, and it was one of the only things that hadn't accumulated a fine film of dust, giving the impression that it was used regularly. A few flimsy cardboard boxes were placed here and there.

Oliver sat down on an armchair, and Elio took the couch. They remained in silence for a while longer as Elio continued to take in his surroundings.

"It's mostly my mom's stuff up here," Oliver stated, looking around the attic.

"Oh. Are you sure you want me up here?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know, it just seems kind of personal."

Oliver shook his head. "I already told you, it happened ages ago. And anyway, it's not like you're going to start rifling through everything and trashing it."

"You don't know that." Elio was awarded a sardonic smile for that.

"I know you." The words made him shiver. _Do you, now?_ he wondered. Elio hummed and changed the subject.

"So," he started, rubbing his hands together nefariously. "Where are the baby pictures? I get the feeling that yours are going to be extra embarrassing."

"Actually, it just so happens that I was an extremely cute baby."

"Of course you were," Elio crossed his arms and waited. Oliver stood and started to look through a box. Upon finding a little leather-wrapped picture book, he tossed it to Elio and then started to search through another box. As Elio worked on untying the strap of leather keeping the book closed, Oliver turned on the record player and found a good album. The book was opened, and Elio was so entranced by the image of a radiant young blonde woman with a beautiful even blonder baby laughing on her hip that he barely noticed the weight sinking into the cushion next to him. Oliver's voice startled him when it came quiet and close to his ear.

"Told you so," he smirked.

"So you _were_ a cute baby. What happened?" 

"How original," Oliver deadpanned, and then looked back at the book to turn the page. The same young woman, now with a smaller baby.

"I'm so disappointed that you weren't a bald baby. I can't even compare you to Dr. Phil," Elio frowned at the lack of name-calling opportunities.

"Well were you bald? I can't imagine you without a full head of hair." This was accompanied by a gentle tug on a strand of hair from the back of Elio's head, which silenced all snarky comments he had prepared. The hand lingered for a few seconds more, and the gentle pressure on his hear tickled his scalp. He could have sworn that Oliver was twirling his hair. He bit his cheek and glared, because it was the most he was capable of in that moment. His voice was sure to fail if he tried to use it, and he was suddenly restless and much too close to Oliver for comfort, so he turned the page again. This time infant Oliver was being held by a man with an unforgiving hairline and a blank face. Elio stared for a while, focusing mostly on the quiet music playing from the record player, and then tried his best to speak.

"No, I'll have you know that I was not a bald baby." He continued to study the photograph, toying with the flimsy plastic wallet encasing it. "Well, at least you don't look like your dad." The man in the photo had black slicked back hair and a rather unremarkable face. Oliver didn't have an unremarkable face. Oliver, with his remarkable face, hummed in agreement and hastily turned the page. Most of the pictures were of Oliver and his mother, occasionally his grandmother, but rarely his father. Pictures at the park, pictures in the garden, a pool, birthday parties, Christmas, the lot. The kind of pictures you would expect. None of the pictures showed an older Oliver, all of them were him as a baby or a toddler.

"They're all from when you were little."

"Yeah. My mom was too ill to do much with me, so we didn't really take many pictures. The ones that my grandma took were all taken into hospital for mom to look at. I don't know where they are now. After my mom died I lived with my dad, and you know he's not really the sentimental type."

"Oh. Maybe you were just a really ugly nine year old." Elio cringed at how tone-deaf he sounded after saying it. Why did he feel the need to always have something to say? Thankfully, Oliver laughed. 

"I hope you don't have any money riding on the bet that I was ever ugly. Ugly is relative anyway. I may be ugly to you and beautiful to someone else. 'Eye of the beholder' and all of that."

"I don't think that you're ugly," was Elio's immediate response. Oliver looked as if he was fighting back a smirk. 

"Okay." He turned the page.

***

They reached the end of the book with minimal teasing from Elio. There were none of those classic bath time photos, or stuffy family photos, or even one of Oliver in a terrible outfit. It was disappointing, really. Oliver took the book back and didn't return to Elio. Instead, he sat cross-legged on the floor and gestured for Elio to join him. He did, and they began to look through boxes. It was the kind of stuff that you'd usually find overly-sentimental people keeping, but Elio excused sentimentality in Oliver's case. He and his grandmother deserved to have something to hold on to when the thing- or person, to be precise- was taken from them too soon. 

"Do you ever get sad that you're the only child?" Elio asked, thumbing a soft woolly baby blanket.

"Sometimes, but I don't think anything would have been as convenient as it was had I had a sibling. My dad probably would have been more reluctant to take us both in when mom died. Grandma might not have had enough money or space to look after us now if there were two of us. We would have ended up... well, I don't know how we would have ended up. There would have been more struggle for both me and this hypothetical sibling, so in a way I'm kind of glad that it's only me. What about you?"

"Well I've never really had to take any of that into consideration. I've always thought that having a sibling might have been fun. Maybe I wouldn't have grown up so quick. Or I would have learned how to not be such a prickly person-"

"You're not a prickly person." Elio stared at Oliver until he took back the blatant lie. "Well maybe a little bit. Sometimes. But you're not too bad once you actually let people in. I think you're just too defensive." Elio decided to steer away from that. There was a vinyl single pushed to the side of the box that caught his eye. He pulled it out and dusted off the simple sleeve, to reveal that it was 'Tiny Dancer' by Elton John. Elio smiled. 

"So she had taste?"

"She had range too. There's a whole box full of albums and singles. She was a very musical person."

"And you?" Elio asked, watching Oliver stand up to retrieve said box.

"Who doesn't like music?" He placed the box down between them and sat down again. They began to file through the collection. Oliver was right: his mother did have range. From Nina Simone to ABBA, from ABBA to David Bowie and KISS. There were a fine collection of classical records in there too. Every so often one of them would pick out a particularly notable Album or song and express how much they loved or absolutely loathed it. There wasn't too much that they disagreed on thankfully, because neither would have let the other hear the end of it if they did disagree. After a while, Elio realised that the record that Oliver had previously put on had come to an end, and now the speakers were emitting nothing but a quiet scratching sound. He stood up and picked a single from the box, leaving Oliver and replacing the vinyl that had been spinning without purpose for the last few minutes. Within a few moments of placing the needle onto the record, the first few notes of 'Sugar on My Tongue' by Talking Heads filtered into the air. 

Elio would have sat back down, but a small framed picture that hadn't been in the picture book was hung on the wall, and his curiosity got the better of him. It was a small, stumpy Oliver in a puffy coat, a hat, and mittens next to a muddy-looking snowman. There were more photographs at intervals along the walls that Elio hadn't noticed before. As he hopped from one photo to the next, he found that he was tapping his foot and swaying ever so softly to the beat of the music. He ignored any embarrassment that he thought he should have felt, and instead just enjoyed the song. He leaned in close to see the details of the next photograph on the wall and he couldn't stop himself from giggling.

"I thought you said you were never an ugly child," Elio laughed. The picture showed a tiny Oliver covered- almost from head to toe- in some substance that was most likely food. Or it could have been paint. It was the classic moment that parents told stories about for years to come.

"I did say that." Oliver's voice was much closer than Elio had expected it to be. Again. He refused to move, knowing that Oliver was right behind him. "That was just a bad hair day."

"Are you sure it was just the hair?"

"Yes, I'm absolutely sure. Dance with me." Elio was still tapping his foot when the request came, and he didn't have time to deny the tug on his hand that guided him to the middle of the attic where the floor was still mostly clear of boxes and memorabilia. Oliver, still holding his hand, spun him in a circle and then let him go. It should have been awkward, Elio knew that. It should have been awkward or embarrassing but it just wasn't. They danced ridiculously, and every time Elio met Oliver's eyes he was overwhelmed with the sense that it was just _right._ That he was right where he was meant to be, with Oliver. Soulmates weren't real, not in Elio's eyes, but Oliver was just the best kind of person. The kind of person that would bring Elio pain if he had to go without him. He had been so sure that he was over it, but he wasn't. He was the furthest from 'over it' that he could be. To go without Oliver from here on out would feel like missing out on something vital, something so beautiful. It was hard for him to fathom that such a feeling of belonging wasn't mutual, or that this feeling that they were meant to be something, if only just the closest of friends, was not something that Oliver felt. It would hurt him to mean nothing to Oliver. It would ache, so some way or another he would have to hang on to him.

Oliver seized his hand again and whirled him around and around and around, until he was dizzy and breathless and laughing so hard that his ribs were sore. Every time he caught a glimpse of Oliver's face as it flashed by, it was split open with a wide and genuine smile. The spinning slowed gradually until Oliver wrapped Elio in his arms, his chest pressed to Elio's back. They were both gasping for air, but Elio wasn't laughing anymore. His eyes were closed as he felt every point of contact between them down his spine. He was acutely aware of the hair that stirred above his ear with Oliver's breath. They were rocking from side to side now, completely ignoring the music. Elio's eyes were still closed as he wondered what was going on. He was confused, to say the least. This wasn't anything explicit. It could mean nothing or it could mean everything. Oliver's hands were grasping at his, pulling his arms across his chest and keeping him tucked snugly against his own chest. Elio felt Oliver's chin come to rest on top of his head, and he wished that his heartbeat would slow down, but he could feel Oliver's heart hammering against his chest behind him. They were united by nerves. The song ended, but still they stood and rocked. Oliver lifted his head and pressed his lips to the back of Elio's head, kissing him shortly and sweetly before moving his chin to his shoulder. He breath disturbed the hair over Elio's ear again now, tickling him and making him shiver. He was sure that Oliver felt the shiver, because he let out a short exhale through his nose and kissed him again chastely behind his ear. He moved to settle his forehead on Elio's shoulder just as his breath hitched. He pressed one final kiss to his shoulder, and they stayed like that until Elio worked up some courage. 

Elio turned his head to where Oliver was leaning on his shoulder and opened his eyes. He was sure that Oliver knew he was looking at him now, but it still took him a while to look up and meet Elio's eyes. When he did, Elio settled his hand on the back of his blond head and wove his fingers through his hair. They didn't move. It had become something of a staring contest, neither of them willing to look away, to break the strange, fragile moment that had settled over them. Elio's phone did it for them. He jumped when it started buzzing across the room, but only looked at it briefly before turning back to Oliver. He had to move. He had to pick up the phone but surely letting it ring for a few more seconds wouldn't hurt. He felt Oliver's grip on him loosen, but he couldn't bring himself to move. With one more deep breath of Oliver, he broke free and shuffled over to his phone. His knees were weak and his heart was fluttering harder than should be possible. The wretched phone was on the sofa. Sitting down and picking it up, he saw that it was Marzia who was calling. Elio rested his chin on the back of the sofa and looked over at Oliver to seek out his eyes as he answered the call.

"Hi. What do you want?" He noticed that his voice was tight and scratchy.

"I need to speak to you."

"Well is it urgent?" I'm not at home."

"Yes, it's urgent," Marzia insisted. 

"Can you tell me over the phone?"

"No. Wait, where are you?"

He hesitated for a split second. " I'm at Oliver's house."

"Then I definitely can't tell you over the phone."

"What? Why?"

"Can you just meet me?"

He was still staring at Oliver, who was staring straight back. The last thing he wanted to do was go. He couldn't leave it like this. He didn't know what had just happened, or what it meant. He bit his lip and felt his whole body tense with aggravation and anticipation. "Fine. Where?"

"At the park. ASAP."

"Okay. I'll be there soon." He hung up without another word but he couldn't move. Oliver was leaning back against what looked like a bed-side cabinet. Everything in him was telling him to stay, to not let what just happened dissipate into thin air. "I have to go. Marzia wants to speak to me. She said it's very important."

Oliver nodded and swallowed deeply. "Alright." His voice was rough and his eyebrows were furrowed in concern. 

"Okay." Elio stood up on legs that were still wobbly, brushing off dirt that was not there at all. "I'll see you tomorrow? At school?"

Oliver rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I'll see you then."

Oliver didn't follow Elio as he left the house. He stood by the door by himself and put his shoes on, ready to leave, cursing Marzia for her incredibly poor timing.

***

Chiara was at the forefront of Elio's mind as he stomped over to the park. What did that little situation mean? Did it change anything? It couldn't change anything because of Chiara. He wasn't about to ruin a relationship between two of his best friends. His heart was racing, and it wasn't just because of his fast pace. The memory of what had happened minutes ago along with the possibilities, the consequences, the meaning of it all bounced around in his head. As he rounded the corner into the park, he was starting to feel sick. It was exactly what he had wanted, and it had felt so right to just exist in Oliver's arms but how many times had he told himself that he shouldn't? He had gone against all of his rules.

He could see Marzia sat on the rickety swing set as he pushed the gate open. He was a vessel of mixed emotions at that point: dread, regret, anticipation, anger. This news from Marzia couldn't be good. Definitely not with the tone she used over the phone. The swing groaned as he sat down.

"What is it? Is everyone okay?" he interrogated Marzia, who was looking mildly frantic.

"Yeah everything is good. Chiara and Oliver broke up," she rushed, as if she just couldn't wait to announce the news.

Elio's stomach swooped so violently that for a second he thought he would be sick. "That's not good news!" Or was it? God, it was hard to keep both his and his friends' best interests in mind. "Why? Is Chiara okay?"

"Yeah, Chiara's fine. Actually, she was happy. She said that it was mutual, and that they had each been meaning to say something to the other, and they just so happened to come out with it at the same time. As for why, I didn't ask. I didn't think it was my business, but she did tell me that she thought she needed a break from relationships."

Elio had to stay quiet for a moment. His head was buzzing. So Chiara and Oliver weren't together anymore. They were both happy about that decision. So what had just happened didn't get in the way of a relationship. Well, that took one confusing factor away, but then it added about three more. "When?"

"Yesterday."

"Are you sure Chiara was okay?"

"She seemed happy. Like, really happy. I'm sure it was genuine, but I'm still going to check up on her to make sure. Anyway, Elio, don't you see what this means for you? You can-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get what you're implying but they broke up yesterday, and I still- there's still- Oh, what the fuck?" He buried his head in his hands. He couldn't even argue that Oliver was straight anymore because what had just happened didn't seem entirely platonic. He had no idea why he was trying to deny and push away absolutely everything to do with Oliver.

"Well you were just with Oliver, was he sad?"

"I- no. Not in the slightest. He didn't bring up Chiara or the breakup so I assumed that everything was normal." Come to think of it, he should have really brought up the breakup if he was going to spring something like that on Elio. 

"So he was happy? Did anything happen?" Her tone was overly hopeful now. He hated that she was right on the money. His head was still buried in his hands when he replied.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? You were there, you were an active participant in anything that happened, you-"

"Maybe. I think so. I'm having a hard time trying to figure it all out right now, Marzia! He never does or says anything explicit, it's always stupid gestures and implications."

"Well tell me what happened and we can make some sense of it all."

"Fine. Well we- God, I don't know where to start." He sat up straight and turned to sit sideways on the swing, facing Marzia with his back against the chain. "He messaged me last night to ask if I could come round today and I said yes, obviously, because we've been hanging out more recently and I thought that I was over him. So I went round and we sat around for a while and watched a movie, which is what we normally do so it wasn't strange. Then we went to his attic and looked through all of the photographs and old stuff and we played some music and he played with my hair. Wait, no. It wasn't really playing with my hair, it was just kind of-"

"Elio if you don't stop being so vague I'm going to go to Oliver and ask him exactly what happened myself. Did he play with your hair or did he not?"

Elio was feeling the pressure. This felt like a middle school edition of 21 questions in which someone is always begging for 'the details'. "It's not a yes or no question, Marzia, it's kind of nuanced."

"Okay so tell me what happened and I'll make my own mind up."

"We were looking through pictures and I was making fun of him and he said it would be strange to see me as a baby with no hair-" He was just realising how strange this seemed, but Marzia was listening intently so he carried on. "- and then he kind of pulled on my hair as if to prove the point and he left his hand there for a while too long for it to be normal."

"Is this really all that you've been confused about?"

"No, that wasn't really important, the important bit happened afterwards." Marzia sighed and gestured for him to continue, so he did. "I was walking around and looking at pictures and then he got me to dance with him and we were dancing and he pulled me up against his chest and he kissed me and-" He realised that each word was just tumbling out of his mouth, but Marzia's look of shock made him stop. "No! No, he didn't kiss me, he kissed the back of my head and my ear and my shoulder and then we just stood there. I think I might have kissed him if you didn't call and interrupt us, but I wasn't sure what was going on and I didn't want to read the situation wrong and kiss him just in case that's not actually what he had intended but-"

"Slow down, you sound like you're about to start hyperventilating," Marzia warned.

"Well I might if you don't intervene and give me your thoughts on the matter. You're just letting me go on and on and I don't know when to stop."

"Okay so is this all of it?" Elio nodded in response. "And you're worried that you read the situation wrong? You think that this wasn't explicit enough?" It was Marzia's turn to bury her head in her hands. "Elio, you're unbelievable sometimes. He kissed you and you're still not sure?"

"To be fair, he only kissed me on the back of my head. And my ear. And my shoulder. Maybe he just wants me to know that he is comfortable with friendly, platonic contact." He was sounding ridiculous, even to himself. He was just making excuses now, but for what? There was no need to make excuses anymore.

"I'm leaving. You're being ridiculous and I'm leaving." She stood up to go but Elio grabbed her hand.

"Wait! I'm sorry, I'll stop. I'm too used to making excuses."

Marzia looked the slightest bit angry now, to say the least. "You know exactly what this all means."

"I do, but I don't know where to go from here."

"Elio this is your potential relationship, not mine. I shouldn't be pulling any strings. This is what you want, isn't it? And the only things stopping you were his relationship with Chiara and the fact that you didn't know whether he was straight or not. I think it's safe to say that both of those things are out of the way now. The only thing in the way is you."

"Yes, I know. Do you know how strange this whole thing is? Yesterday I was so sure that I was over him completely, and that there was absolutely no chance for us, but today everything has changed. I can have what I want, and I _know_ that I want it."

"Everything has turned out well," Marzia grinned as she pulled him off of the swing and began to walk to the gate with him. He was still sceptical. This seemed too good to be true.

"Are you sure that Chiara is happy?"

"I'm almost completely sure. Her reason made complete sense and I'm almost sure that she was genuinely pleased."

"Well what about Oliver? They only broke up yesterday. What if he's just using me to get over her?"

"I don't think Oliver is that kind of person, and anyway, Chiara assured me that it was a mutual decision, and they both had their reasons. Maybe you were his reason."

"Well if I'm Oliver's reason won't Chiara be mad at me?"

"Elio how many times do I have to tell you? It was a _mutual_ _decision._ You're overthinking it all. Don't get yourself worked up over something that isn't there. Chiara isn't mad at you."

"Okay, fine."

The rest of their walk was mostly Elio trying his best not to delve into the 'what ifs' and Marzia trying her best to persuade him to make a move. As they parted ways, Marzia turned to shout to him: "If you haven't done something by Wednesday, I'm going to be mad." Elio stuck his tongue out at her and smiled. As he turned away, the smile remained on his face. It felt as if everything was adding up and settling into place. He was still wary about the whole breakup situation, but he would settle that soon. It really hadn't been a regular coffee and toast kind of day.

***

**Marzia's POV**

Marzia was about a street away from home when she stopped walking and sat down on a bench instead. There was a question that had been nagging at her ever since she found out about Chiara and Oliver's breakup. It could be absolutely none of her business and there was always the option to not answer, so she figured she'd give it a go. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and started to call Oliver. He picked up in three rings.

"Hello?" His voice was thick and groggy.

"Hey."

"Oh, Marzia, hi." He sounded relieved upon figuring out that it was a friend.

"You didn't know that it was me? Unbelievable. I can't believe you don't have my number saved." The humour was obvious in her voice.

"My apologies, I'll get right to that."

There was a moment's silence until Marzia decided to just get on with it. "How are you? I heard about the breakup and I just thought I'd check in."

"Oh, the breakup. I'm good. Very good, actually. Didn't Chiara tell you that it was mutual?"

"Yeah, she did, but I thought I'd check in anyway."

"I'm fine, really. It was for the best. I had been meaning to say something to her about it not being right, and she had been meaning to say something to me, so it just worked out."

"That's good. I'm glad it wasn't one-sided."

"Yeah, me too." There was a slight hesitation. "Did she happen to tell you _why_ we broke up?"

"No. She only told me her side of it, and I thought that if I wanted to know your side of the story I should ask you. That's kind of why I called, actually. Obviously I wanted to check in but I also just wanted to know your side of it. I get that it's not really important, the most important part is that you broke up and that you're both happy, but if you're okay with telling me then..." she trailed off.

"It kind of is important, actually. I told Chiara that she could tell you guys if it came up but I guess she just thought it wasn't her place. Or it just didn't come up. Either way, I'm glad I get to tell you myself. I'm gay."

"Oh." Marzia didn't feel the shock that she probably should have. "Thanks for telling me," she smiled, genuinely happy. She felt that her response was somewhat underwhelming, but she didn't know what she could say.

"This isn't going to cause any problems between us, is it?" 

"Of course not, Oliver."

"Okay. Good. Um, I know I told Chiara that she could tell people if the subject happened to come up, but I think I would kind of prefer to tell people on my own terms, if that's all right."

"I wont tell people, don't worry. Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really proud of you."

"Oh. Thanks, Marzia." There was a pause again.

"Alright, I have to-"

"Wait! Wait, don't go yet."

"I'm still here."

"I need to ask a question, too."

"Alright, ask away." She was biting her cheek now, worried that she couldn't give him the answers that he wanted.

"Um, well I- Oh, for God's sake, did Elio say anything to you?"

Marzia hesitated. It wasn't her place to share anything that Elio had said. "That's kind of vague, Oliver."

"Well he left earlier and said he had to meet you to speak about something urgent- oh, wait. Did you tell him about the breakup?"

Marzia sighed. The empty space in the web of 'who knows what' was collapsing. She had tried to leave Elio some wiggle room so he could confess his feelings to Oliver when he wanted to, but now Oliver knew that Elio had been informed of his breakup, and Oliver knew that his breakup was considered 'urgent news' to Elio, and Oliver knew enough to piece everything together, leaving no space for Elio to make the choice of when and how he would make his move. The whole thing was getting more and more complicated, and Marzia kind of wished that Oliver and Elio were less oblivious and hesitant, because then they wouldn't be in such a mess of a situation.

"Yeah, I told him. I'm sorry. Are you mad?"

"No," Oliver sounded rather flippant about it, actually. "He was going to find out about it eventually. I'm glad he knows now."

"Why are you glad that he knows?" She was tiptoeing on the edge of a cliff now.

Silence. "I think you know the answer to that already."

"I might. You probably should have told him about the breakup yourself when he went round to your house earlier. That way he wouldn't think that he was betraying one of his closest friends." She was chastising him now. She hated to see Elio think that he had potentially upset Chiara when he thought that Chiara and Oliver were still together. Elio had literally repressed his own wants to preserve Chiara's happiness, he wouldn't give it all up just for some vague moment in Oliver's attic. She was happy for him, but she was also slightly mad at Oliver for that. 

"Yeah, I realised that after he left. I didn't intend to- wait, so he mentioned what happened when he spoke to you earlier?"

" I think its unfair of me to tell you what Elio and I speak about privately, but then again, I think you know the answer to that already," she mimicked. The answers were unspoken, but they weren't unknown. The truth was now behind a paper-thin veil. 

"So you know it all?"

"I think so."

"Chiara knew as well, though I think that was just through educated guesswork. Is it really that obvious?"

"Between the two of you, kind of. Can I ask a favour?"

"Of course."

"Hurry up. I think you might kill him with anticipation at this rate."

" _I_ might kill _him_ _?_ " He huffed incredulously. "I think you've greatly underestimated him."

"The point is, you're both either completely oblivious or complete idiots. You're dancing around each other like you're going to win a medal for it. You know what to do. So does he. Well, he knows less than you do now that you've cheated information out of me."

"I didn't cheat anything."

"Okay, okay, but if you two stick to this waiting game I'm going to be so mad. I'm going to go now, and if nothing is done by Wednesday, it'll be Divine Intervention. For the both of you."

Oliver laughed at that and then conceded. "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you. Good luck." She hung up and leaned back against the bench. Elio would get what he wanted and he could stop sulking. Oliver would get what he wanted and he could stop pretending. Finally, things felt as if they were falling into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you hate me yet? Next chapter. I promise. Also I didn't realise the relevance of Talking Heads until I remembered that t-shirt, I just included the song because I love it. If you haven't listened to it, I recommend. ALSO!!!! Aren't we all Marzia? Sick and tired of them walking on eggshells around each other.
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes, my brain is fried.


	10. The Joys of Camping (Pt.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camping is fun! Especially when it's a set up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so... this chapter is in two parts and both are quite long. This one is kind of a filler, but it's important for context. I would have refined it, but I've already had to postpone updating so I wanted to get it out as soon as possible. Also, Happy New Year! I hope it's a good one for all of you. Sorry for any mistakes, as always.

**Elio's POV**

It was Wednesday afternoon, and Elio _knew_ that Marzia had set a deadline but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Monday was tense, to say the least. He had barely slept -which could only be expected after the events of Sunday- and he was constantly on edge, waiting for the right moment or waiting for Oliver to come forward and say something himself. There were a few excuses: he didn't have time to speak to Oliver before school, and he thought it would be strange to ask someone out before school and then act normal for the rest of the day. Obviously classes were out of bounds for the same reason. At lunch, he had sat on the opposite end of the table to Oliver, and had busied himself with speaking to Chiara, only daring to look up when he knew Oliver was looking down. It was never the right time. There were always people or obligations to get in the way. The only feasible situation that he could think of was on the way home from school, but even then it would feel incredibly awkward and set up. He would have to seek Oliver out and ask to walk home with him, and then he expected that the walk home would be embarrassing whether he said yes or no. If Oliver said no, well that would obviously be uncomfortable. They would most likely walk home in dead silence, or they would try to change the subject as quickly as possible. If Oliver said yes, then what? They couldn't really maintain the topic for the whole walk home, unless they were confessing everything on the spot. And what happened when they got to Oliver's door? Would he just wave and smile? Imagining it was painful. It felt like two preschool kids trying to play house. 

So yeah, Monday had been bad, and Tuesday had been more of the same, but today had been even worse. He walked into school alone, as he normally did, and his first lesson was fine. His second couldn't have been worse. He was the second person to arrive, moments after Oliver, of course. This would have been okay, and even the accidental eye contact that made him blush would have been tolerable, but as he was setting his stuff down on his desk, the teacher turned to them.

"Seeing as you're early, would you mind getting some textbooks from down the hall for me? I would have gotten them myself but I didn't have time, and everyone else will take a while to arrive anyway so it won't interrupt your lesson."

Elio glanced at Oliver, who just so happened to be looking at him too.

"I'll get them," Oliver offered, making his way forward.

"You'll have to take Elio too. The room is locked, you won't be able to lock it again by yourself when you leave carrying the books."

Elio was looking for a way out, trying to think of anything that was believable. Oliver looked just as panicked, but their teacher was holding out the key now, clearly waiting for them to go. Oliver collected the key and left with Elio trailing behind him. He caught up as he left the room, and they walked side by side through the busy hallway. Elio had crossed his arms so as to not accidentally touch Oliver, whose arms were swinging by his sides. The halls were loud with the chatter of students, so there wasn't much need to fill the silence between them. It wouldn't be so bad. The air felt close and charged as though they were in a sort of bubble by themselves, rather than making their way through the hoards of people, but it could have been worse. They reached the end of the hallway as the crowds started to thin out, and Elio hoped that there would still be a few people as they made their way back so it wasn't too quiet. Imagining the echo of their footsteps in the silence of the hallway made him wince.

The door unlocked and opened with a squeal. Oliver gave Elio the keys, almost but not quite brushing his hand while doing so, and headed into the classroom in search of the textbooks. Elio followed him in and leaned against the wall next to the door as Oliver checked the few drawers that were unlocked in the desk, but didn't find anything.

"I think they'll be in that cupboard," Elio said quietly, looking expectantly at Oliver, who was already looking at said cupboard.

"Really? I was about to start ripping out ceiling panels to look for them," Oliver quipped, and his voice was sarcastic but not cruel. Elio smiled and looked down at his feet, feeling some of the weight drop off of his shoulders that had come from their silence, not just for the last few minutes but for the last two and a half days. It had felt as if the bridge that had been built in that moment when he was tucked safely into Oliver's arms had been completely demolished, and now it was like nothing had happened. Worse than nothing, actually. If nothing had happened, they wouldn't be so awkward. Elio was desperate. They had been so close to closing the gap. What could he do? In this moment, what could he do? He couldn't crack open his heart and let the contents spill forth right now, they had to be back in class soon. He was holding back a laugh at the terribly cliché idea of Oliver turning to him out of nowhere and pushing him up against the wall in that dark little classroom, and then proceeding to make out with him. Now, which teen movie was that?

As Oliver triumphed over finding the stack of textbooks, Elio smiled and pushed down the feeling that their moment had come and gone. He wouldn't allow that to happen. Oliver was coming over now, arms full of glossy paperback books, and Elio could have let him pass in peace but the adrenaline pumping through him made him take action. It wasn't very dramatic action, but it was action nonetheless. He looked at Oliver, seeking out his eyes and holding his gaze as he made his way to the door. Neither of them looked away. It felt like one of those old challenges of Elio's where he would stare until Oliver couldn't help but look away, except there was no malicious intent now. He was trying his best to speak without words, to convey the message that what they had wasn't gone, that sooner or later Elio would prove that it wasn't gone, just not right now. Of course, it's hard to say such things without words. Oliver- who looked to be blushing slightly -came to stop right in front of Elio, and they were both transfixed by the intensity of the other. Elio tried his best to be brave, reaching out tentatively and settling his hand on Oliver's warm cheek. He left it there for a second, remembering how it had felt when Oliver had done the same after hitting him in the face with a snowball. Yes, the context was different, but that didn't make it any less thrilling. Oliver's eyes were wide now, and Elio stroked his cheekbone once, twice, three times with his thumb, trying to let his sincerity seep through Oliver's skin. He removed his hand slowly, but didn't look away. Oliver smiled softly, almost regretfully, and looked as if he was trying to find something to say but then seemed to give up. He passed through the doorway, Elio followed, and that was that. 

The hallway was empty, but Elio didn't care anymore. There was some kind of promise between them now, and it settled his frazzled nerves.

***

The rest of the day was quiet which was fine in Elio's opinion, but then lunch rolled around. Chiara sat down opposite him, seeming more excited than she usually was. He would have asked about what had her so excited but she started speaking before he could.

"Do you want to go camping this weekend?" She asked, smiling madly in a way that seemed disproportionate to the joys of camping.

"Camping? Why would I want to go camping?"

"Because it'll be fun," she said as if it was obvious.

"Have you ever been camping?"

"No, but there's a first time for everything. Are you coming?"

"Who's going?" This was what would make or break his decision. He didn't want to spend his weekend camping in some field with people that he had no desire to speak to.

"It's only us. Me, Marzia, Stephen, you and-" she turned her whole body to speak to Oliver, who was sat next to her and was speaking to Stephen. "Oliver, do you want to go camping?" Oh. Big oh. He planned to finally speak to Oliver this weekend. Ask him out on a date or whatever people did these days, but it would be kind of awkward to do that if they were on a camping trip with their friends.

"Maybe. When?" Oliver didn't even seem to put much thought into his answer.

"This weekend. It'll be me, Marzia, Stephen, you, and Elio if he decides to come with us."

"Cool. I'll think about it and tell you tonight." As he turned to continue his conversation with Stephen, he glanced at Elio and their eyes met. Again. It felt like fire, and Elio couldn't decide whether it was embarrassing that he made eye contact, or if he liked the fact that there seemed to be a secret little something in every look they shared. He noted that Oliver and Chiara didn't seem to be awkward, despite the recent breakup. Maybe it actually _was_ mutual.

"I'll probably come," Elio admitted. "Do you even have a tent?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. I have three of those little pop-up tents." She seemed proud.

"Why do you have tents if you've never been camping?"

"God knows. Anyway, I'm going to assume that you're coming. We're going shopping for food tomorrow night and then we're leaving on Friday night until Sunday. Oh, and we'll have to figure out the sleeping arrangement seeing as there's only three two-man tents, but I'm sure that'll be fine. Marzia and Stephen will share, obviously, and we'll figure out the rest when we get there." The uncertain arrangement struck fear into Elio. He would love nothing more than to share a tent with Oliver, but at the same time it was the worst thing he could possibly think of. Spending two nights in close confines with Oliver would be hell.

"I could just buy another tent," he suggested. He doubted Oliver and Chiara would share a tent, and Chiara would most likely be in favour of getting a tent to herself, so one way or another he would end up with Oliver.

"You don't have to buy another tent, sharing will be fine." _For you,_ he thought.

"It'll be easier to just buy another."

Chiara opened her mouth to dispute this, but she gave up. "Fine. So, shopping tomorrow, leaving on Friday. And you're coming." She left no time to argue. "I would suggest we leave tomorrow night and come back on Saturday, but I think they'll notice all of us calling in sick on one day."

"Plenty of people call in sick, Chiara, I don't think they'd care," Marzia butted in.

"Well people know by now that we're all friends. They'll know that it's not a coincidence," she insisted.

"Again, I don't think they care about any of us enough to pull us up for being off on the same day, but even if they did, is it not reasonable to say that we all caught the same thing from hanging out?" Elio had no idea why Marzia was so insistent on the idea of them leaving tomorrow rather than on Friday, but he didn't care enough to mention it. If anything, he would be glad to have a day off. 

"Good point. Maybe I'll take tomorrow off too. Then we can say that I got sick first and that you all caught it from me."

"One last time Marzia, they don't really notice or care, but as an advocate for your education," the fake sincerity was obvious in Marzia's tone and it made Elio smile. "I think it'd be best if you didn't take too much time off."

"Yeah, well I also just don't want to come in tomorrow. So, we leave tomorrow and we'll come back on Saturday?" Everyone nodded in agreement.

" Where are we staying?" Elio asked, wondering which muddy field he would be calling home this weekend.

"Some little campsite about two and a half hours away."

"Chiara, if this campsite is literally just a field without showers or a bathroom I will be so mad that I got roped into this," Stephen warned.

"Relax, there's a shower block and toilets, I wasn't planning to completely isolate us from society."

"You know the state of those toilets and showers will be abysmal, right? Someone is going to get worms," he complained. Marzia snorted and then broke out into laughter.

"Or scabies," she forced out between giggles.

" Stop being dramatic, Stephen," Chiara rolled her eyes. "Take flip flops for the shower." Elio was trying not to laugh at the way 'flip flops' sounded in an exasperated tone. "Anyway, I checked the reviews and ratings, and they all say that it's surprisingly well kept. So, we shop tomorrow and we leave tomorrow. Pack your bags tonight so you can grab them after we go to the store."

"Right." Elio was bewildered with how his weekend had gone from being completely centred around confessing his feelings to Oliver to being centred around a camping trip. The bell rang, concluding their plan making, and they all left for the final few lessons of the day.

***

Elio walked home with Marzia and Chiara. Chiara was much too excited for Elio to tolerate. He was trying to stave off disappointment at the loss of opportunities for speaking to Oliver privately while she was planning their trip and asking for song suggestions for a driving playlist. Chiara must have noticed that he seemed off, because she clutched his arm moments later and rested her head on his shoulder.

"What's wrong, Elio? This'll be fun!"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm using all of my mental energy to prepare myself for sleeping in the middle of nowhere for two nights."

"It's not really the middle of nowhere. There's a few stores like fifteen minutes away from the campsite."

"Chiara, if I get murdered in the woods I am going to haunt you so hard."

"We won't get murdered," she sighed. "We're going to have fun. We'll have a campfire and... other camping stuff. I don't know. But anyway, stop complaining, you're making it seem worse than it really is. It won't be as good if you're already setting negative standards for it."

"That's not true," Marzia intercepted. "If we set our expectations as low as possible, anything that happens has to exceed them, right?"

"Stop encouraging his negativity, you're the one who suggested this in the first place."

"Oh so this is your fault, is it?" Elio looked at Marzia.

"And what about it?"

Elio narrowed his eyes at her and then let it slide. "Fine, I'm not even that worried about it," he admitted. It wasn't a lie, exactly. Although his previous plans were now in disarray, he was still looking forward to spending a weekend doing stupid shit in the wilderness with his close friends.

"Good."

They continued to make arrangements until Chiara left, and then the conversation lost some of its momentum. Elio was worried that Marzia was going to turn on him for not asking Oliver out yet, so he brought it up first.

"It's Wednesday," he muttered.

"It is," was Marzia's curt reply.

"Are we going to speak about it? Because I have reasonable excuses-"

Marzia stopped him before he could continue. "Well I wasn't going to bring it up, but now that you mention it..." Oh. So he had shot himself in the foot.

"I was going to ask him out this weekend, I promise, but now we're going on some camping trip and my plans are on hold."

"Okay." She didn't seem to care.

"I thought you'd be more annoyed."

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again, it's not my relationship so it's not really any of my business what you do."

"Well this isn't the Marzia that I was speaking to the other day. You said that you'd be mad if I hadn't done anything by today. You said- wait a minute..." He took a second to mull over the idea in his head. "You suggested this camping trip. Is this you intervening? Did you plan a whole camping trip to force me to spend time with Oliver?"

"Maybe I just really wanted to go camping."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Really want to go camping?"

"Yeah. And I might have thought that it would be a fun and efficient catalyst."

"Marzia there were so many better ways to do this," he sighed, running his hand over his face. He couldn't believe all of the effort that she had put into it.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to." She wasn't pressuring him. "If you really want to wait and do something on your own time, I won't be annoyed."

"I still want to go, though." He admitted. Maybe he would speak to Oliver while he was there, maybe he wouldn't. Either way, it would probably -hopefully- be fun. 

"Good. I'm excited," she grinned, kissing him on the cheek, which he returned before they said their goodbyes and parted ways.

***

Elio spoke to his parents over dinner when he got home that night. He was pretty sure they would be fine with the whole camping part, but he would have to persuade them to let him call in sick on Friday. In the end, they reluctantly let it slide on the condition that he caught up with missed work. He almost felt that they had let him off too easily, especially when they gave him money to buy a small tent without protest. Packing didn't take him long at all: he stuffed bundles of clothes and toiletries into one big bag, not really paying attention to anything that wasn't essential, and then put smaller, less necessary things in a backpack. He took a phone charger on second thought, hoping that he could charge his phone in Chiara's car if it died. His sleeping bag just about fit in with his clothes, and then he decided to take a comforter as well, just in case. In case of what, he wasn't sure, but he packed it anyway.

He was restless by the time everything was done and accounted for. Oliver hadn't said whether he was definitely going yet. He told himself that it would be a relief if Oliver didn't go because there would be no pressure to speak to him, but the thought of being there without Oliver made his heart sink. Oliver had become so important to him. It was nice to care about someone, and it thrilled him to be on the precipice of something with Oliver, but it terrified him at the same time. It made his palms sweat and his mind race. He hated to have some portion of his happiness rely on another person. It made him feel weak and vulnerable. Elio spent the rest of the evening reading, trying his best to put all apprehension out of his mind. 

***

Chiara was absent the next day, as she said she would be. Elio spent the whole day waiting for school to end. He was in classes physically, but mentally he was anywhere else, trying to pass the minutes until that final bell rang. It felt strange to be filled with such a sense of anticipation while it was just a regular Thursday for everyone else. Well, everyone but his few friends, that was. Even so, none of them seemed as fidgety to get out of school as he was, or maybe they were just better at hiding it. Elio occasionally found his focus shifting to Oliver in lessons rather than his work, trying to figure out if he felt the same, but to no avail. Oliver seemed as placid as usual. 

Elio was the first of his friends in the cafeteria at lunch. He didn't mind much, but he wasn't sure how to feel when minutes later Oliver sat down opposite him, alone. Within a few seconds, he resolved to be happy for the opportunity to speak to Oliver alone. He just hoped that it wouldn't take a turn for the awkward again.

"Where are Marzia and Stephen?" Oliver asked, twisting the cap off of a bottle of water.

"I don't know, I thought they'd be with you," Elio shrugged, looking away from Oliver as his Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow.

"Nope. So, you are coming later, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I take it you are as well?"

"Surprisingly, yes."

"Surprisingly?"

"Yeah, I didn't expect my Grandma to let me have tomorrow off. She's not strict, really, she just doesn't often approve of wasting education. She was fine with the camping, though. Apparently I need to get out more," he raised an eyebrow upon seeing Elio smile, as if daring him to insult him further. Elio just raised his hands, surrendering before he had even started.

"I won't say a word. You know, I don't have much faith in this campsite. If there's no form of bathroom I'm going to demand compensation for emotional distress from Chiara."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. She said the reviews were good, and apparently the pictures are decent too. Besides, if it's that bad we'll steal the car and run away together."

Elio grinned at that suggestion, his insides warming as he looked across at Oliver who was smiling just as widely with eyes that glittered. Truthfully, escaping to anywhere with him sounded nice. He had to say something, he had been silent for just a second too long.

"Sounds fun," such a mundane remark. He couldn't stand himself for it. "Who _is_ driving us, then? I'll need to know whose car we'll be stealing."

"Oh, I don't know. Chiara, I assume, seeing as she's picking us up after school. Are you still buying a tent when we go to the store?"

"Yeah, if I can find one." _Why? Did you want to share?_ "I think Chiara has her mind set on having her own tent, so I'll just buy another," he said, subtly implying that he wouldn't be sharing a tent with Oliver. Shame. It was then that he realised that he had also implied that Oliver and Chiara wouldn't share as they would have if they were still together. He should really say something about that. "By the way, I'm sorry about the breakup. I know that it was a mutual decision, and you're still friends but I just thought that I would, um... yeah..." he trailed off awkwardly.

"Oh, thanks. It's fine really. I was going to tell you myself but I forgot and I guess Marzia beat me to it," Oliver scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. There was a brief pause in conversation, and Elio looked around to find something, anything to talk about. He spotted Marzia and Stephen and almost sighed in relief.

"Here they are," Elio smiled, waving across the cafeteria and welcoming -more like begging- their friends to join them. Oliver looked up as they came over.

"Where have you been?" He asked in mock exasperation. 

"I had to return a book to the library," Marzia replied, sliding down into the seat next to Elio while Stephen sat opposite her, next to Oliver.

"Why did it take so long?" Elio narrowed his eyes.

"Because the librarian is ancient. Maybe we should get her some roller skates for her next birthday," Marzia mused, pulling a sandwich out of her bag. 

"If she makes it that far," Elio muttered under his breath, and the pair broke out into fits of giggles. 

"Don't be cruel," Stephen chastised, trying to suppress a smile himself. Elio just shrugged.

With the arrival of Marzia and Stephen, conversation came easier. It wasn't that Oliver was difficult to talk to, there just always seemed to be so much tension. It was a little easier to breathe when there were other people with them. There was still the odd moment where they would look to each other when someone said something funny, as if seeking out the other's reaction before laughing themselves, or they would accidentally knock feet under the table and pretend it hadn't happened other than a swift glance in the other's direction. Lunch ended too soon and not quickly enough. The next few lessons dragged, but Elio passed the time by zoning out and allowing his imagination to establish dominion over his mind. 

Students scurried about like rats when the final bell of the day came, each person as eager to get out as the next. Elio was no different. He didn't bother to look for his friends before he went to find Chiara in the parking lot: they would all end up in the same car anyway. He took the liberty of sliding into the passenger seat as he was the first of his friends to get there. 

"Hi," Chiara yawned, turning down the radio as Elio settled into his seat. "How was your day?"

"It was shit. I didn't do anything. How about you?"

"My day was brilliant. I didn't do anything," she grinned. "My stuff is in the trunk. Do you think everything will fit?"

"Probably not, we'll have to put some stuff on the backseat as well," he said, turning to assess the amount of room they had.

"But there will be people in the backseat," Chiara frowned.

"Well you'll just have to hope that you're not one of those people."

They could see Marzia and Stephen making their way across the parking lot towards them, and Elio couldn't help but feel glad that he wouldn't be stuck in the car alone with Chiara and Oliver. Stephen sat behind Elio and Marzia sat in the middle seat. They all gave their perfunctory greetings and then kept up the conversation while they waited for Oliver, who took an annoyingly long time. By the time they saw him coming their way, the lot was significantly less busy. As he opened the door and took the last remaining seat, everyone turned to look at him.

"About time," Chiara huffed.

"We've been waiting for ages," Marzia complained. Oliver looked to Elio for help, but he just shrugged and tried to cover the twitch of a smile that was fighting its way onto his face. Oliver frowned and then addressed his attackers.

"It's not my fault, I had to go back to get something from my locker."

"So it's entirely your fault?" Elio asked.

"Shut up," Oliver glared at him, balling up the sweater he had just pulled off and throwing it at Elio, who caught it and refused to give it back under the premise of trying to annoy Oliver. "Well it's not getting any earlier, are you going to drive or not?" He asked Chiara, nudging his knee into the back of her seat. She rolled her eyes and pulled out of the parking space.

Chiara drove them one by one to their houses to pick up their bags. As Elio predicted, by the time they had Oliver's and Stephen's bags in the trunk there was no room left, so Marzia's bags ended up by their feet and on their laps. As he lived the farthest from school, Elio collected his bags last. He dashed to his front door, shouted a hurried 'Hi!' and then scrambled up the stairs. He was halfway down the stairs with his bags in hand when he realised it might be a good idea to use the bathroom before they went. He turned around to go back upstairs and then was saying his goodbyes to his parents within the next five minutes.

"Call me when you get there, alright?" His mother implored as he kissed her on the cheek.

"I will, I promise," he replied, pulling back from her to hug his father. 

"Good. Have fun," she smiled, handing his bag back to him.

He mirrored her smile. "See you on Saturday."

"Bye!" They shouted in unison as he walked out of the door. He made his way to the car and was about to reclaim his seat when he realised that a smug-looking Marzia had beat him to it. She rolled down the window.

"You're in the back now," she grinned.

"And why is that?"

"I didn't want to sit with all the bags. Also, I wanted to be in charge of the music."

Elio huffed and trudged over to the other side of the car, checking the trunk on his way and hoping that there was some room to cram in a bag. It would be way too cramped with his _and_ Marzia's bags in the back. He rearranged the contents of the trunk and managed to shove his bigger duffel bag, with much effort, into the remaining space. He would only have to put up with the backpack now. He found, upon opening the door, that the only seat left was in the middle. He crossed his arms,

"Absolutely not. I've already been evicted from the front seat, I'm not sitting in the middle," he whined, knowing that he sounded petulant. Oliver looked up at him and crossed his arms in return.

"Well you're the smallest," He insisted.

"I don't care." He glared at both of the boys in the backseat, waiting for one of them to give in. "I'm not climbing over you to sit in the middle."

"I'm not moving," Stephen said, looking up from his phone.

He looked at Oliver and tried to muster up the most persuasive face possible, hoping that whatever was going on between them extended to favours for a 'friend', or whatever they were. It seemed to work, as Oliver rolled his eyes and begrudgingly shuffled over to the middle seat. Elio pulled the bag off of his shoulder and put it in the footwell before getting in the car himself. His entire right side was pressed to Oliver, and he didn't hate it. 

It took them a while to get out of town and onto a highway. Elio spent the first fifteen minutes staring out of the window at the passing scenery. His thoughts carried him away from his body, away from the car, away from everything, really, except for the warmth that was Oliver. He suspected that he would never get away from that, but he didn't mind. Eventually he pulled a book from his bag and began to read. He knew that reading in the car would probably make him nauseous later on, but he was too bored in the moment not to. The combination of the quiet radio and the gentle whoosh of the tires on the road lulled him into a steady focus on the pages before him. Marzia and Chiara were talking amongst themselves and Stephen was still on his phone. He looked up to see what Oliver was doing, and found that he was staring down at the book. Normally people reading over his shoulder would have annoyed Elio, but the idea that they were sharing something satisfied him. 

He shifted the book to the side slightly so Oliver could see it better, and then looked up and smiled to gauge his reaction. Oliver smiled back and they continued to read, now with Elio checking before he turned each page. It was nearly 6pm now, as it had taken them a while to collect all of their bags and get out of their town, and they had been driving for around an hour and a half. As he looked up to check the time again, the radio announced traffic and congestion on the road ahead of them.

"Shit," Chiara murmured.

"Is that where we're going?" Asked Stephen, beating everyone else to it.

"Yeah. We won't be there for a while, though, so it might have cleared up by then. Maybe we should have left tomorrow around lunch to avoid everyone coming home from work."

"It'll be fine," Elio said. Well, it would be for him, anyway, as he was leaning further into Oliver than necessary and they were sharing a good book.

"Did we bring any snacks?" Marzia asked, yawning. Suddenly, Elio remembered something.

"Weren't we meant to go to the store before leaving town?" Panic started to infiltrate the sense of peace that he had created. He was meant to buy a tent. He couldn't be stuck in a tent with Oliver. They could barely have a conversation without the tension going through the roof, how could they share a tiny tent for two nights? And what if something happened between the two of them and it all went wrong rather than right? The awkwardness would kill him.

"Shit," Chiara said for the second time that night.

"Chiara did you actually bring any food or were you planning on buying it from the store?" Marzia queried.

"I was meant to buy a tent," Elio complained, trying not to sound too concerned.

"It's fine! It'll all be fine, there are a few stores near the campsite that we can go to. I already bought all the camping stuff. Like firelighters. And... tent pegs?" Chiara sounded unsure of herself.

"Oh that's okay then, we'll just eat the firelighters," Elio drawled, unimpressed.

"Can we stop at a gas station?" Asked Marzia, clearly still set on getting snacks.

"Fine, there's one coming up soon."

Only Elio and Oliver were left in the car when they arrived at the gas station. As the car turned off and everyone left, a heavy silence settled over them. Elio continued to read for a few minutes but such nonchalance felt wrong when Oliver was still by his side in the dead silence. At least it wasn't dark out. They would probably be able to see the tense energy between them that Elio could feel if it was dark. Elio finished the page he was reading and looked up at Oliver, only just registering how close his face was. Oliver nodded, signalling he had finished the page too, but Elio closed the book rather than turning the page.

"I can't believe we forgot to go to the store," He sighed, toying with the feathery edges of the worn paper in his lap. There was a sharper edge of worry to his voice that he hadn't anticipated.

"Don't worry about it, it'll be fine," Oliver consoled him. Elio looked at Oliver's hands lying in his lap. If he was brave, he would have reached out and held them. Key word being 'if'. Instead he yawned, stretched, and opened the car door. The fresh air flooded in and made everything seem a bit less heavy. 

"I've been sitting down for too long, I need to stretch my legs. Are you coming?" He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car, throwing his book down on to his bag. He could offer Oliver his hand now and it wouldn't seem too strange. So he did. Oliver took his hand and climbed out of the seat. As Oliver stretched to his full height, Elio wondered how he fit into the car at all. He didn't want to let go of Oliver's hand. Oliver didn't seem to want to let go, either, and they were parked around the back of the gas station, with no one to see them. It was okay. They were okay. Maybe he _was_ brave. Oliver's hands were soft and warm, and Elio thought that it wouldn't be too bad to just not let go.

"Are you still buying a tent?" Oliver asked.

"Mhm," Elio replied, hoping that it didn't offend Oliver. There was so much that had gone unsaid between them, and Elio just needed him to know that it wasn't because Elio didn't _want_ to share a tent with him, and it wasn't because he didn't want _him,_ but he didn't quite know how to say it, so he rearranged his hand and slotted his fingers between Oliver's.

"I hope there's a store somewhere near the campsite sells them," Oliver said. He didn't sound offended at all. In fact, he seemed genuinely concerned about the availability of tents.

"I'm sure they will. I mean, It's a campsite, is it not?"

Oliver hummed in agreement. They were quiet as Elio stared up at the clouds swirling in the sky above them. It was kind of cold out, and Elio was considering getting his comforter out of his bag when they got back on the road. 

"I'm cold," he stated, bumping his shoulder into Oliver with sudden energy. "Are you cold?"

Oliver looked down at him and smiled that private kind of smile he often gave Elio, who had no idea what it meant. "Kind of, why do you ask?"

"I have a blanket in the car." Oliver smiled again without saying a word, and then pulled Elio's hand closer to him and began to play with his fingers. It was a small yet confounding act of intimacy which had come unannounced, something that seemed increasingly common for Oliver, yet it struck up a deep and familiar ache in Elio's chest. He watched as Oliver ran the tip of his finger along Elio's thumb. The bell that hung above the door at the front of the store rang and voices spilled out into the silence, announcing someone's imminent presence. Neither of them jumped up and separated in a big hurry. Instead, they stood slowly from where they were sat on the bonnet of the car and climbed back into the backseat, separating as they went. Elio picked his book up again, and then wrestled the comforter out of his bag as his friends got into the car. Marzia handed them both to-go cups of coffee and then started to root through the bag of food that she had bought. As Elio began to unfold the comforter, he realised that it might seem strange, or inconsiderate at the very least, to share it with Oliver and no one else. 

"Stephen, are you cold?"

"Not really," he replied.

"I am," Marzia claimed.

"Well maybe if you had stayed in the back..." Elio trailed off, covering himself and Oliver in the blanket being careful not to knock the coffee they had been given. Marzia stuck out her bottom lip, looking jealous, and then turned to continue her search through the selection of snacks. As they started to drive again, Elio's hand found Oliver's under the blanket. The barrier between them had been broken again, and for now small gestures such as these seemed acceptable despite the fact that neither of them knew where they stood. They caught up to the reported traffic, unfortunately. They all did a healthy amount of complaining, and then distracted themselves from the boredom of inertia with whatever they had nearby. Elio would have started to read again, but one hand was busy holding Oliver's and the other was holding an empty coffee cup. His eyes were starting to feel heavy. The warmth and the quiet atmosphere made him sleepy, despite it only being half past six. A nap wouldn't be too bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure I said this in the last chapter, but next chapter! I promise! Fortunately I posted both this and the next chapter at the same time, so you don't have to wait. It's the least I can do after nearly two months of silence.


	11. The Joys of Camping (Pt.2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tents are scarce, and often unreliable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYYYY!! Part two babey. This is quite a long chapter. I don't know whether to say sorry or you're welcome, but either way, here it is.

**Oliver's POV**

They weren't moving. The cars were lined up for miles with barely any leeway at all. Well, probably not miles. Oliver didn't mind, though. He was perfectly fine where he was. His hand was clasped loosely around Elio's under the comforter, and the entire side of his body was pressed against him too. Elio's breath was slow and steady now. He would be asleep soon, if he wasn't already. He hoped that Elio's head would fall against his shoulder, rather than against the headrest or the window. The car crawled forward at a snail's pace before stopping again. It seemed to rouse Elio from the precipice of sleep, so Oliver silently cursed the cars around him. _Let the boy sleep, for heaven's sake_. He put his empty coffee cup in the cupholder by his knees and took Elio's out of his hand, trying not to jostle him with the movement. Stephen was already asleep. It seemed as if everyone had been subdued by the slow pace; even his own eyelids were drooping.

The radio announced that the source of the traffic, wherever that may be, was clearing up. They'd be driving again soon. They had already been held back by the traffic for around 45 minutes, and it would take another hour to get to the campsite. Elio fell asleep eventually, as expected. He slumped into Oliver and let his head drop onto his shoulder. Oliver hoped that Elio wouldn't be too embarrassed when he woke up, because he really didn't mind. Marzia and Chiara turned back at one point to look at the trail of cars behind them and saw the two of them. Marzia's face betrayed her as she tried to hold back a smile. She turned back around instead and tried to mind her business, as did Chiara. Oliver couldn't contain a grin, for they didn't know that they were holding hands under the ridiculously thick comforter. After a while of trying not to, Oliver rested his head on top of Elio's and let his eyes slide shut. He didn't sleep; he knew better than to waste a moment of such intimacy. Instead, he took in all that he could. The feel of Elio's hair against his cheek, his hand, the sound of his breathing, the smell of laundry detergent and shampoo and warmth. He stored every detail away in his memory.

Elio slept for the remainder of the journey, whereas Stephen woke up a while before they arrived. He didn't mention the way in which Oliver and Elio were intertwined. Chiara had the money ready as they pulled up to the toll booth on the boundary of the campsite. The tired-looking man peered into the car as he took the money.

"Keep the noise down, alright?" He requested. He wasn't rude, more imploring, as if he had already been in trouble for not keeping rowdy teens in check. Chiara nodded, handed over the money, and then continued down the gravel road. She followed the road until she found a relatively remote clearing in the middle of a copse of trees. They wouldn't be loud, but she still wanted to set up camp somewhere they weren't likely to be found by other people. She parked up and everyone clambered out. Well, everyone except for Oliver and Elio. They all seemed to have an unspoken agreement that Oliver would deal with waking Elio up alone, as if he could be that bad.

They were alone in the car when he lifted their entangled limbs and stroked the back of Elio's hand. He whispered his name and received a groggy groan in response as Elio turned to hide his face in Oliver's shoulder. Oliver was enjoying it too much, and was trying his best to hold back a laugh. He whispered into his hair this time, dragging out the 'El' just to tease him.

"What," Elio whispered back before he gained some awareness of his surroundings. His head shot up and Oliver found himself missing the warmth and the closeness. Elio stared at him as if he had just told him the most confounding secret, and Oliver stared back just as intensely. "I fell asleep." His voice was tight and he sounded stupefied. It made Oliver's chest constrict.

"Yeah. We need to get up, now. Everyone else is outside."

"Oh." Elio looked down at their joined hands. "Are they waiting for us?"

"I don't think so."

"Good." They sat in silence for a few more seconds, Elio still staring at their hands as if he was trying to figure something out. "Good," he repeated, and then lifted the back of Oliver's hand to his mouth to kiss each of his knuckles gently. He was gone within seconds like a shy, giggling child, leaving Oliver to gaze after him out of the open car door, wondering what had just happened. He peeled the remainder of the comforter off of himself and climbed out of the car to join the rest of his friends who were standing in the middle of the clearing.

"What are we doing?" He asked, trying to focus on Chiara, who seemed to have the authority, rather than on Elio who was much too beautiful in the twilight. As if he wasn't at any time of the day.

"Well it's getting late, so we need to pitch the tents before it's too dark to see, but we also need to go to the store for food and another tent," Chiara said, setting out a plan of action.

"Right," Oliver said. He had nothing to contribute.

"Why don't we just split up? Some of us can go to the store and some of us can set up the tents," Stephen suggested.

"There are three tents, so three of us can stay here to put them up. Elio can go to the store with someone, seeing as he's the one insisting on buying another tent," Marzia said, picking up a bag. Elio rolled his eyes and was about to retort when Marzia turned to Oliver.

"You go with Elio, the rest of us will stay." Oliver opened his mouth, whether to protest or accept he didn't know, but Marzia had handed the keys over to Oliver and was already gone, carrying her bag across the grass to set up. The other two left, too, leaving Oliver and Elio to stare at each other. Eventually, Elio shrugged and headed for the car with Oliver in tow.

**Chiara's POV**

Marzia watched the car as it pulled away, smiling slightly. Chiara looked over at her, and then at Stephen who was also watching the car, and then called them over.

"Marzia, these are pop-up tents. We could have had them up well before it gets dark and we could have all gone to the store," Chiara said, confused and feeling slightly bad that they had left Oliver and Elio to go alone.

"I know," Marzia smirked. "I just thought it'd be better if they went alone."

"But they- _Oh,_ " She realised what Marzia and Stephen had done. So they all knew. All of them except Oliver and Elio themselves.

**Oliver's POV**

Oliver drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, looking for a place to park. He refused to let Elio drive, seeing as he had been asleep not long ago, and still seemed to be tired. They talked over the quiet radio as they drove, discussing what food to buy and where the best place a buy a tent was, and anything else that came up. As Oliver pulled into a parking space, Elio fell silent. When Oliver looked at him he appeared to be deep in thought. He took the opportunity to study his face, the gentle slope of his nose and the planes and shadows of his cheekbones. Everything about him took his breath away, as it he hadn't studied that face a thousand times before. It took Elio a few seconds to finally look up and smile.

It was getting darker with every passing minute. As they walked to the entrance of the store, they felt the absence of the warmth that the sun had provided in the day, and the wind was cold and biting now. The small store they found themselves in provided good shelter. They looked to each other, trying to decide where to start, until someone came in behind them and mumbled a quiet 'excuse me,' trying to get past. After that, they followed the flow of the aisles.

"Can you get a cart?" Oliver asked, his arms stacked with groceries. "I don't know why we didn't think to get one on the way in." Elio smiled, nodded, and then came drifting down the isle moments later, leaning on the handle bar at the front of the cart. Oliver laughed and dodged Elio, whose momentum was sending him barrelling straight towards a shelf stocked with cans of various foods. He put his foot down at the last second, preventing the crash that was bound to happen.

"Right, give me that. You're a menace to society." Oliver wheeled the cart around and dumped everything inside of it, grinning.

"Well that's not a very nice thing to say," Elio frowned, although there was a gleeful glint in his eyes.

"You know what's not very nice? Knocking over a whole shelf of soup for a some poor soul to clean up."

"Spoilsport. I would have picked it up my self."

"I'm sure you would have," Oliver said over his shoulder, already heading for the next aisle with Elio trailing behind him.

The journey around the remainder of the store was significantly less antic-y. They drifted down the aisles (with better direction this time), and threw things that happened to appeal to them into the cart. There was no problem until they came to pay, where Oliver realised that they had not seen a single tent in the whole store. They asked the cashier if there were any tents about, whether in that store or in any of the surrounding stores. She admitted that they didn't sell any, but she advised them to look around, as surely somewhere would have some.

"I'll sleep in the car, if you want," Oliver suggested as they carried their bags back to said car. He didn't want to make Elio uncomfortable by sharing a tent with him. He didn't know where they stood yet.

"What? No! You can't sleep in the car. I'll share with Chiara," he insisted, and then slightly more hesitantly: "Or you."

"Are you sure? You've been set on having your own tent this whole time."

"I'm absolutely sure. Anyway, we might still find one," Elio said with an enthusiasm that waned as they looked at the sparse collection of stores huddled around the parking lot. There was a fish tackle shop, a pizza place, and a hair salon. Oliver wasn't feeling very optimistic about the availability of tents. Elio stared up at him, looking concerned and about just as optimistic as Oliver. "We'll try the tackle shop."

The tackle shop was closed. Elio stood before the door with his arms crossed, as if he disapproved of the early closing time.

"I've heard that any good hair salon stocks tents," Oliver said, awaiting a punch on the shoulder. Elio rolled his eyes and started to walk away, murmuring 'smartass' underneath his breath. 

"Do you wanna get pizza?" Elio asked. He had already dismissed Oliver's jibe and was on his way to the pizza place. "I'll call Marzia and ask if we should get it. I don't wanna cook and I don't trust anyone else's abilities."

"Yeah, pizza sounds good. Won't it get cold on the way back, though?"

"Put it on a stick and roast it over the fire. Problem solved." Oliver snorted and leaned against a wall as Elio stopped to pull out his phone and call Marzia. The conversation was brief, and within two minutes Elio was gesturing for Oliver to follow him. There was a clear contrast between the noise and bustle of the small restaurant- if it could be called that- and the quiet, dark outside. It was quite disorienting. Oliver sat down in a small booth, gazing after Elio who had gone to order.

***

The drive back to the campsite was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Elio was evidently tired again. Whenever Oliver looked over at him at a stoplight he saw his eyelids drooping and his shoulders hunching. He was tired himself, so he imagined that everyone that they had left to put up tents would be too. It'd probably be an early night. Oliver pondered over the whole tent fiasco currently going on. The thought occurred to him that if he had asked Elio out weeks ago instead of getting with Chiara, they wouldn't have a problem sharing a tent. He dismissed it soon after it arrived. There was no point in regretting it now, for he couldn't change it, and anyway, things happened to be going well at that moment. Sure, there were a few things that could be better and Oliver would much prefer to just jump right in rather than play this game of 'who will cave first?', but it could be worse. They were just pulling up to the tollbooth outside of the campsite when Oliver realised something.

"Hey, do you think the on-site store will sell tents?" He asked, perhaps a little to loudly as Elio jumped a mile.

"Oh, I didn't think of that. Isn't it just for gas and stuff?

"I don't know. Do you want to check anyway?"

"Yeah." Oliver showed the man in the booth the ticket they had bought earlier. It was unnecessary, as he seemed to recognise them anyway. He drove a few metres down the road and then pulled over. Elio hopped out by himself, clearly not expecting Oliver to go with him, and entered the store. He came out a few minutes later grinning and victorious, with a bag in hand. 

"So you found one, then?"

"Yep," Elio smiled, closing the car door a little bit too hard. "It's a one-man tent but it'll only be me in it, so that's fine."

"Was it expensive?" Oliver asked, beginning to drive again.

"No, actually. It was twelve dollars, which is kind of concerning. I don't know whether they're just being generous or if its actually worth twelve dollars."

"Guess we'll find out."

There was a semi-circle of three tents with a campfire burning in the middle when they finally, after many wrong turns, arrived at the right part of the site. Chiara, Marzia and Stephen were sat around the blaze on rickety-looking camping chairs, and two more were set up either side of the trio for Elio and Oliver. Elio rushed forth with his sketchy tent and the pizza while Oliver grabbed the groceries from the back seat. 

"Is it a pop-up tent?" He heard Marzia ask Elio as he got closer to where they had assembled. Chiara and Stephen were further off, dividing the pizza that Elio had handed over.

"I hope so, I have no idea how to put up a tent," Elio grimaced at the bag in his hand. "You guys should, though, seeing as you put yours up while we were gone."

Marzia looked smug. "They were pop-up tents," she admitted, glancing back to where Oliver was approaching.

"But- so why did you send me and Oliver to the store alone?" Elio whispered scathingly, but loud enough for Oliver to hear. He slowed his pace, feeling as if that conversation was meant to be solely between Marzia and Elio.

"Thought you could do with a little outing," Marzia shrugged, smirking.

"You knew exactly what you were doing you-" he cut himself off and swung at her with the flat-packed tent. She burst into peals of laughter and dodged his attack, shoving him away and taking off running. Oliver decided that it would be best to pretend that he hadn't heard a thing as he deposited the bags by one of the chairs.

The rest of the evening went relatively smoothly. They ate pizza, listened to music, drank beer -which Chiara pulled out of seemingly thin air- and found that Elio's tent was, in fact, a pop-up tent. It seemed about as reliable as it was expensive, but Elio insisted that it would be fine for two nights. As Oliver had predicted, it was a considerably early night for the five of them. Elio had retrieved his comforter from the car and was sharing it with Marzia despite the fire right in front of them. They had fallen asleep by nine and Oliver was the one to wake them to tell them to go to bed. He tried to ignore the way Elio looked up at him just after he woke up, bleary-eyed and dreamy. Instead of kissing him like he thought he ought to, he offered what he hoped was a meaningful look and then retired back to his seat. Stephen was the next to duck out, leaving Chiara and Oliver alone. Oliver chickened out shortly after, too scared that Chiara would trick him into a conversation about Elio. 

**Elio's POV**

Friday morning was cool and clear. Elio had been the one to wake Oliver this time, with the help of Chiara. It had involved the use of a metal pot, a spoon, and a lot of cursing from Oliver. Breakfast was an embarrassing affair. They spent about half an hour trying to toast bread adequately over the flames of a gas-burning camping stove, resulting in a lot of burned bread and too much humiliation for 8am. Marzia was the only person who succeeded, and she flaunted her toast excessively for the next twenty minutes. Only after eating did it occur to them that they had no idea where the showers were. There was an abundance of toilet blocks around the site, in fact there was one not far from where they had set up, but the showers were a complete mystery to them. Elio, deciding that they had been in the car for too long yesterday, persuaded them to trek around the campsite with their towels and toiletries in search of the elusive showers. 

The reviews were faithful, and Elio found that he did not require compensation for any emotional damage caused by using abysmal showers. It was kind of disappointing, actually, as it ruled out Oliver's suggestion of stealing the car and running away. He dressed in the shower cubicle afterwards, hopping around in an attempt to keep his socks dry. Anything was better than having to confront Oliver half-naked. There was no way he would survive that. He was the first out of the showers so he sat on the counter with his knees drawn up to his chest, waiting for someone to emerge from the clouds of steam that were billowing out from beneath the doors. The cold morning air was wafting in from the open door, chilling the patches of water down his back where his hair had dripped. He had been alone for only a few moments when one of the showers shut off, detracting from the chorus of falling water. There was the sound of a zip, a few minutes of shuffling around, and then the door swung open. Oliver stepped forth with his t-shirt in his hands, chest bare and hair glistening. Elio looked away immediately, his cheeks already flushing and burning, but then realised that looking away was just as bad as staring. He looked up again and tried to fix his eyes on Oliver's face rather than on any other part of him as he pulled the shirt over his head. Oliver shot him a charming smile, now fully clothed, and came to stand beside where he was sitting.

"Have you been out long?" Oliver asked, drying his hair with a towel.

"No, just a few minutes. Good shower?"

"Not bad."

They were quiet for a while longer while Oliver shoved his stuff into his backpack. It seemed gloomier outside now, as the clouds had started to gather and darken the sky, threatening rain. 

"So, what are we doing today?" Oliver asked, leaving his bag and standing in front of Elio, who had lowered his legs to hang over the edge of the counter.

"Well let me just get out my activity schedule," Elio said sarcastically, pretending to reach into his pocket. Oliver rolled his eyes and stepped closer to hear him better over the noise of the showers. "I don't know what we're doing, you'll have to ask the other's when they're finished showering. I'm really just going with the flow."

"Going with the flow? That's not very 'Elio' of you," Oliver smirked, clearly thinking that he had him all figured out. Elio was trying to ignore the fact that he was just an arm's reach away.

"And you know me well enough to decide what is 'Elio' of me, as you put it, and what is not?"

"I'd like to think so," Oliver whispered. He was close now, torturously so. Elio could feel the warmth of his presence surround him, replacing the goose bumps of cold with goose bumps of anticipation. He smelled clean and fresh and inviting. Elio glanced down -entirely by accident, of course- at Oliver's lips, and then back up at his eyes, which had tripled in intensity. His dangling feet were brushing Oliver's shins, now. 

"I'd like to think so, too." He stared and stared and stared, trying to seek passage into his soul through the abyss of blue before him. Oliver stared right back, already entrenched within Elio's soul whether he knew it or not. Oliver was inching closer now. He stood between Elio's knees, trying to control his breathing. Every so often his gaze fell down to Elio's lips, and each time a shot of adrenaline entered Elio's bloodstream. Oliver's breath danced across his lips, his chin. He raised his hand to Elio's hair and wrapped a dark tendril around his finger.

"You should dry your hair, you know. You'll get ill." It was a strange thing to say, entirely too flippant for the moment they were sharing, but when Oliver tugged the curl gently and threaded his fingers through the rest of his hair, Elio saw it for what it was. A ruse. To get close and yet closer still. His eyelids fluttered and his lips parted so slightly that it was almost unnoticeable, but not to Oliver, who was a careful student of anything regarding Elio. Their faces were a hair's breadth away now. One word and their noses would brush, and then surely their lips would follow. This was the leap over the precipice. It had to be.

"Oliver," Elio whispered, quietly enough that no one would hear it unless they were centimeters away, as Oliver was.

"Yes, Elio?" Was his response.

"Oliver," He repeated. There were no words. Nothing that could convey what he felt.

Oliver smiled and caught on. "Elio." It was nothing more than a breath now. Elio couldn't close his eyes. He couldn't lose a second of this. His nose bumped into Oliver's just as one of the three showers left shut off. Mutual understanding passed between their eyes, and Elio sighed, finally blinking. Oliver lingered just inches away for a moment, his lips twitching as if he had something to say, but eventually he chose to draw back. After a moment's hesitation, he lifted Elio's hand to his mouth and kissed each of his knuckles, as Elio had kissed his the night before, but this time with as much passion and ardour as one could put into a kiss on the hand. It was nowhere near enough, and the electricity still crackled, unsatisfied, between them, but it would have to do. For now. Oliver released his hand, picked up his bag, and left to stand outside of the little steam-filled building. Elio agreed. He couldn't be anywhere near at that moment without doing something desperate.

Chiara opened the door to her shower cubicle, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering. She set her bag down on the counter and pulled a sweater out of it.

"God, it's freezing," she whined, pulling the sweater on and leaning towards the mirror to get a better look at herself.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed. He hadn't been cold mere minutes ago, but now that Oliver was gone he felt the chill in the air more keenly. He would give anything for just a few minutes more with Oliver. 

"Are you okay?" Elio hadn't even realised that Chiara was looking at him, he was still wrapped up in some sort of dream land. "You look like you're about to burst into tears."

"What?" He swivelled to look at the mirror behind him and found his eyes wide and bright and his cheeks pink. Perhaps he did look like he was about to cry, but in reality he was likely to do the exact opposite. "Yeah, I'm good." Chiara glanced at him warily and then turned back to the mirror.

"Who else is out of the shower?" She looked at the open door in the reflection. 

"Oliver."

"Oh," she said as if it all made sense now. And it probably did.

***

They spent the rest of their morning exploring the campsite, which turned out to be a lot larger than any of them had anticipated. There was a suspicious distance between Oliver and Elio at all times. Elio went from being quiet and contemplative to joyful and involved, trying his best to mask his internal struggle but often overdoing it. As for Oliver, he seemed completely unaffected. Elio wondered at how he could be so steadily composed. They rarely came upon any other tents or people. There were trees and squirrels and birds and at one point there was a large pond with a rickety little wooden pier stretching a meter or two off of the bank. Marzia and Chiara grappled with each other playfully and threatening to push each other into the shallow, murky water. Elio tiptoed out to the end of the creaking pier, hoping that it wouldn't cave in. He sat on the very edge, legs crossed as he leaned over to stare into the green depths below him. The algae and pondweed made it hard to see much, but every so often something dart by in a hurry or breach the surface, causing a ripple to span out until it dissipated.

Stephen was sat on a low branch of a tree, laughing at Marzia and Chiara shrieking and hollering as one of them got too close to the edge. Oliver was strolling around the mossy bank of the pond, every so often pulling a leaf off of the branches that loomed over the water and picking it apart. Elio looked up at him for a split second, and Oliver met his eye. They maintained the eye contact for a few moments, a discreet smile slowly making its way to his face. Elio grinned and looked away, his cheeks burning. No one else noticed a thing, they were distracted by the antics. 

The day proceeded like that: coy looks, feigned disinterest, terribly hidden blushes. The five got lost multiple times on their way back to their tents, seeing as they hadn't bothered to follow any paths. By the time they made it back, it was mid-afternoon. Rather than bother with lunch, they consumed copious amounts of chips and other such snacks while playing a particularly passionate game of monopoly, for what game of monopoly _doesn't_ get passionate? The competitive nature of the game helped to distract Elio from everything, everything being Oliver. It was Stephen, surprisingly, who won. He was the only one who hadn't been dishing out threats of bodily harm.

Eventually, they took up the task of making dinner, which was a terrible attempt of cooking pasta in a pot over the small camping stove. They accidentally left it to cook for too long as they all got caught up in a particularly funny story of Chiara's, but it could have been worse. It was edible, at the very least, with the pasta sauce. From there, they sat around the fire as dusk started to draw in and paint the sky a darker blue. They recalled anecdotes from their childhoods and laughed about every embarrassing thing they had done, often filling Oliver in on parts that he hadn't been there for. To Elio, it felt as if Oliver had been in that small town with them forever, rather than just short of a year. He payed close attention to his face, illuminated by firelight and laughter. A strange sense of tranquillity stole over him amongst the raucous laughter. Everything felt so right here with friends and Oliver, whatever Oliver was to him.

Chiara revealed bags of popcorn later on in the evening. It was microwave popcorn, but that didn't stop them from taking a crack at it. It turned out better that anything else they had tried to cook, actually, and they ate it as they joked and laughed and reminisced, as good friends do. The camaraderie stretched on into the night, until they were yawning and stretching, reluctant to turn in. They retired to their tents one by one with tired eyes and satisfied hearts. The satisfaction didn't last long for Elio, whose mind flew back to that morning as he tried to sleep. There was a feeling of unease in his stomach as he imagined that that was the only opportunity they would ever get to make something out of the feelings that they so evidently shared. He tossed and turned, envisioning in his mind the thin thread that they hung on to now. God, how he wished they could just let go. 

The problem with a one-man tent is that there's not much room to breathe, let alone move. As he rolled over again, Elio became aware of just how warm it was in that little polyester cocoon. He huffed with frustration and sat up, or tried to at least. He shucked off his sleeping bag, pulled on his shoes, and unzipped the entrance to the tent as quietly as possible, so as to not wake any of his friends. There was a thick covering of clouds blotting out the stars, causing the silvery moonlight to bleed out into the blue. It was cold as it had been that morning, but not unbearably so. He was sticky with sweat from the incubator that was his tent, so he decided against donning a sweater or coat. His feet made no sound as he ghosted over the grass, until he reached the gravel road that wound throughout the whole campsite. The gentle night breeze was soothing on his hot skin, but as he kept up his brisk pace he felt the frustration slip away along with the warmth. It was a quick transition between being too hot and being too cold. Elio found himself wrapping his arms around his torso as he progressed further away from their tents. He started to regret not bringing any kind of second layer, but he didn't want to turn back yet so he hunched over and soldiered on. There was no noise except the rustling of leaves on the tree branches that arched over his head and the occasional hoot of what he assumed was an owl. There was much peace to be found outside at that hour.

The gravel road stretched on and on and on, but Elio didn't anticipate walking that far. He passed a block of toilets, nodding to some man who had just emerged from the building, and then continued to where the road led into a thicker copse of trees. There was a low lamp post along the road every so often, but they were far enough apart that between them it was so dark that his hand was only just distinguishable before him. A particularly strong breeze whistled through the branches above him, making his hair stand up on end. Once the rustling had ceased, another noise became evident. A second set of footsteps could be heard crunching along the gravel behind him. They weren't particularly close, but it was still unsettling. Elio picked up his pace, trying to seem as calm as possible as his heart raced and his mind shot back to the man at the block of toilets. He wanted so badly to look over his shoulder, but that would arouse too much suspicion. He was just about to pick up his pace again when the footsteps increased in tempo. The pursuer was running now. Elio's heart ached with the amount of adrenaline pumping through it. He started to run, knowing that it wouldn't matter if the other person could tell that he was aware of them now. He risked a look back and saw a towering figure, gaining on him now. They seemed familiar, and Elio allowed himself a few more seconds to peer over his shoulder before the voice confirmed it all for him. 

"Elio!" Oliver half whispered, half shouted. He stopped in his tracks and spun round to face Oliver, chest heaving and knees weak. Oliver caught up in a few strides, stopping before him to keel over and put his hands on his knees. 

"Jesus Christ, Oliver, what the fuck are you doing?" Elio gasped, waiting for the adrenaline rush to subside. 

"I heard you leave your tent earlier so I came to walk with you," he said, as if it was obvious.

"I thought you were going to murder me! Why didn't you just shout my name?"

"I didn't want to wake people up." Elio stared up at him incredulously, trying his best to regain composure. Once his ribs had stopped aching so much, straightened up and began to walk, beckoning for Oliver to follow.

"Well you're here now, you might as well walk with me," he sighed, falling into step beside Oliver.

"Why are you awake?" Oliver asked, looking up at the canopy of green above them.

"Couldn't sleep. It was too hot."

"Oh."

"And you? Why were you awake to hear me leave my tent?"

"I don't know. Too much on my mind, I guess." Elio wasn't sure whether it was wise to ask or not, but Oliver turned to him and held out a hoodie before he could say a word. "I brought you this. I thought you might be cold." Elio, whose teeth were practically chattering, took it gratefully.

"Thanks, I'm freezing," he pulled the hoodie over his head gratefully and breathed in the scent of Oliver. 

"Why didn't you bring a jacket, idiot?" Oliver joked, bumping his shoulder. 

"I already said, I was too hot. I thought I would be fine."

"If pneumonia is what you class as fine, then yes, I'm sure you would have been okay." Elio rolled his eyes and shoved Oliver. It was quiet for a while until Oliver spoke again, about the weather of course. "It's not a very clear night. I think it'll rain," He commented staring up at the glimpses of cloudy midnight blue that could be seen between the branches. Elio looked up too, humming in agreement. A heavy silence stole into the air, with nothing other than the crunching of gravel to fill it. It was daunting and loaded, and Elio felt as if one of them had to say something soon. They were between two lamp posts, now. The cover of dark gave Elio courage. He stopped abruptly in the middle of the road, and Oliver continued a few steps before realising and stopping, too. 

Elio took a breath and held it, staring at Oliver as he came closer, making up for the few extra steps that he had taken and then some. He was still much too far away. There they were, stood still in the middle of the road, staring at each other, but what now? Elio couldn't find any words. Everything he had ever thought or said evaded him. He let out the breath in a short huff and turned away from Oliver, heading for a wiry old tree on the edge of the road. He turned to face Oliver when he reached it, and then looked down at his feet, toeing at the stray gravel in the grass. There Oliver was again, a mere two steps away.

"What are you doing?" Oliver asked gently, crossing his arms and staring intently at Elio who couldn't for the life of him meet his eyes.

"I don't know," Elio admitted, because it was the truth. He leaned back against the tree trunk, desperate for some stability as he finally looked up at Oliver. "I..." He was a new kind of frustrated, now. There was nothing he could think of to reach out to him, to draw him in further.

"Are you okay?" Oliver asked breaking their rule. Elio disregarded his question and came out with the first thing that he could think of.

"You teased me, earlier." He stated. Oliver raised a singular eyebrow, but didn't say a word. "Don't tease me again. Not this time," He pleaded, not caring about how he sounded.

"This time?" Oliver asked, taking a slow but sure step forward. Neither of them could look away.

"Yes, this time." Oliver took another step forward, now just inches away. Heat was radiating off of him. Elio looked as serious as ever, in fact more serious than usual, as Oliver's hand brushed along his cheekbone, over his ear, and settled at the back of his head. His head was tilted up now, eyes wide and lips twitching with all of the words that just wouldn't come. Oliver's other hand settled on the side of his neck, brushing his skin so gently that he struggled to hold back a shiver.

"Don't tease you?" Oliver grinned. Elio could have sworn that they were only atoms apart now, and that he felt the air shift as Oliver had spoken. Everything inside of him was stirring.

"Shut up."

Elio pitched forwards, reaching up to pull Oliver down at the same time. Their lips met, finally, and Elio breathed out noisily through his nose. There was no finesse, no practice, just pure unbridled passion. Elio wouldn't have cared for a practiced and rehearsed kiss, anyway, for the one they were sharing in that moment was perfect. Oliver pushed him back against the tree, pressing short, sweet, insistent kisses to his lips. Elio was all too happy to oblige. He gripped Oliver's sweater and pulled him as close as possible, pressing himself to him. Oliver's hand, still at the back of his head, was firm and unyeilding, and Elio didn't want it any other way after such a long wait. There was nothing gentle about the embrace, it was all grabbing and pulling and sighing and pushing. He could feel a smile on Oliver's warm lips, and it caused one to appear on his own. 

The short, demanding kisses had evolved into long, passionate ones. Oliver reached for Elio's thigh and hitched his knee up to settle over his hip, before pushing him further up the tree so that his foot only just brushed the ground. He laughed breathily as Oliver drew back for a second before reapplying himself with just as much vigour to Elio's neck. His laughter ceased, replaced by a hitch in his breath and a high pitched noise that he had been working too hard to conceal. As Oliver kissed up and down his neck, occasionally pulling the collar of his hoodie aside to reach his collarbone, Elio ran his hands through Oliver's hair. His face was turned up towards the sky, his mouth open in a silent groan. He wondered if there would be marks on his neck by the morning. Eventually he decided that he couldn't stand it anymore. He pulled Oliver back up and kissed his lips in a way that he would never grow tired of. 

Oliver drew back, breathing heavily and gazing at Elio like he held the secret to life. He laughed and pulled the hood over Elio's head, pulling the drawstrings until his face was covered and turning to walk away. He was grinning and running his hands through his hair as if he just couldn't handle it anymore. Elio narrowed his eyes and chased after him, pulling the hood desperately away from his face and slinging his arms around Oliver's neck. He kissed him again and again and again, because he could. Oliver drew him in close to his chest, lifting him to his tiptoes and humming into the kiss. He set Elio back down on his feet eventually, although he didn't allow him to go far. They stood together, wrapped up in each other's arms with racing hearts and heaving lungs.

"Thank you," Elio whispered. He was still staring at Oliver's lips, but he was staving off the urgency for a while to speak. "I've waited so long for that."

"Me too. Longer than I even knew."

"Well I sure hope it was worth it," Elio joked.

"Shut up," Oliver murmured affectionately, trying to tame Elio's curls back down from where he had disturbed them. 

"Make me," Elio laughed, as if he wouldn't. Oliver rolled his eyes and kissed him again, long and sweet. "Do you think it's late?" He asked when he and Oliver separated. They began walking again. Oliver had his arm over Elio's shoulder, and Elio had his arm around his waist. 

"Probably. Didn't you bring a phone?"

"No," Elio admitted. 

"You decided to go on a walk alone at night without a phone? What am I going to do with you?" Oliver sighed dramatically.

"Whatever you want, really. I'm yours. All yours," Elio said lightly, his heart soaring now that he was finally able to say it. Oliver looked down at him, tucked under his arm with a shy little smile on his face. His eyes softened and he smiled right back at Elio. There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. "And you?"

"Yours. Wholly and unequivocally yours." 

***

It had started raining as they made their way back, not too heavily but the swirling clouds promised a downpour. Thankfully, everything was as they left it when they got back to the tents, no one had woken up in their absence. They parted reluctantly, kissing once more for good measure. Elio returned to his little tent, so tired and yet not sure that he could sleep at all after what had just happened. He kicked off his shoes and then crawled into his tent, glad that Oliver hadn't taken his hoodie back now that the temperature had dropped due to the rain. He checked his phone as he rolled over in his sleeping bag. It was close to 2am. The rain was coming down harder now, pattering insistently on the fabric above his face. It was more soothing to him than distracting, and he felt his eyes getting heavy as he tried to focus on nothing other than the rhythm of the downpour. All thoughts of Oliver and their walk and the kiss and, well, everything really, had been laboriously pushed to the side, and Elio was steadily drifting away. That was before he had rolled over once more and heard a ripping sound, followed by heavy droplets of rain on his face. He shot up, head brushing the top of the tent, and found a sizeable tear in the fabric that was _supposed_ to be keeping him warm and dry. The zip on his sleeping bag had caught it and ripped straight through. He knew twelve dollars was too cheap for a good enough tent, but it was the only one that they had had. 

For a second he considered attempting to cover it with something, as he didn't want to disturb anyone else by asking to sleep in their tent. He knew who he would have gone to, but he didn't want to make it seem as if he had come up with some master plan just to get into Oliver's tent. Unfortunately, the tear was too big and the rain too heavy, dissolving all plans he had made to patch it up. The rain was pouring in, puddling in a little divot in the lumpy floor of the tent and threatening to soak anything that was too close. Elio scowled, shuffled back a bit, and started to grab all of his belongings. He shoved everything he had into his two bags, and then sighed when he remembered the sleeping bag. He decided that it would have to take one for the team.

Moments later, Elio was running across the marshy grass with his shoes half on, his bags slung over his shoulders, and his sleeping bag held over his head like an umbrella. He faltered when he got to Oliver's tent, wondering how exactly he should go about entering. One couldn't exactly knock on a tent. He stood and deliberated for a second before reaching to unzip the tent, hoping that he wasn't unwelcome. There was a light to be seen through the thin polyester, so he most likely wasn't asleep. Elio unzipped the tent slowly, hoping that it at least gave Oliver some warning. When the entrance fell open, Oliver was revealed. He was lying on his side in his sleeping bag, reading a book by the dim yellow camping light. The whole scene seemed so comfortable that Elio could do nothing but stare for a second as an undeniable fondness spilled through his veins slowly and sweetly like amber hued honey. Oliver looked up and raised an eyebrow before insisting that Elio came in, as the rain was assaulting his poor sodden sleeping bag, now. He crouched over and entered the tent, feeling terrible about invading Oliver's space and forcing his presence upon him. He sat down cross-legged by the front of the tent with his bags in his lap and the sleeping bag bunched up in his arms, trying to convey that he would leave at any minute if Oliver wanted him to leave. He even left the zip open, so he wouldn't have to bother unzipping it to leave if Oliver told him to. Oliver did no such thing. Instead, he sat up, looking very confused and more than a little concerned, and placed his book down after marking his page with a scrap of paper. 

"Close that," he said, gesturing to the door and then looking back at Elio. "What's wrong?"

"Okay so this may sound like I made it up so I could come to you," He began. "But I promise I'm telling the truth. The zip on my sleeping bag ripped a hole in my tent and now I have a makeshift skylight, which would be lovely if it wasn't pouring it down with rain outside, but I can probably put something over the hole if you don't want me in here, and..." Elio was rambling but Oliver hadn't said anything yet and he couldn't stop himself. 

"Elio, you're not going back to a tent with a hole in it," Oliver said as if it was ridiculous, and as if Elio hadn't truly been considering it for the past few minutes. "Pass me your stuff," He reached out for Elio's bags and shoved them with his own pile of luggage, along with the slightly damp sleeping bag which he folded in on itself so it wouldn't soak anything else. Elio was still sitting awkwardly having taken off his shoes when Oliver rolled his eyes and grabbed his hand to get him to join him by his side. 

"Oh, I have my comforter," Elio realised, reaching for his bag. He didn't want to force his presence onto Oliver any more than he already had. It was a strange feeling, having kissed him and declared himself his, and yet still being scared that Oliver thought him a nuisance. 

"That's alright, we can share this," Oliver said, unzipping his sleeping bag and unfolding it so it spread comfortably over the both of them. "Besides, it's already warm."

"Oh," Elio said stupidly. Oliver shuffled down so he could lay back, having to ease a hesitant Elio with him. The warmth of Oliver and the sureness of his words made Elio relax a bit. He settled into Oliver's arms and found himself a comfortable place with his head resting on his chest, tucked under his chin. 

"You know, I wouldn't have turned you away even if you were only here because you wanted to see me. In fact, I would have been quite flattered."

Elio grinned and felt that fondness renew itself with a vengeance. He felt warm and safe here with the rumble of Oliver's voice beneath his cheek and his breath displacing his hair. "I don't think you need any more flattery," he teased. "Wouldn't want you getting more big-headed than you already are." Oliver laughed softly and nudged Elio's shin with his foot, entwining his legs with his. Oliver's arm, the one that Elio wasn't lying on, came to wrap around him, pulling him closer. Oliver stroked his hair and kissed the top of his hair, humming when Elio kissed his chest in return. It was quiet for a while, the profound intimacy silencing them. "This is quite a big tent," Elio noted out of nowhere, surprised at how roomy it actually as compared to his tent, God rest its soul. 

"Oh, I know. Just wait 'til you see the pool," Oliver murmured. 

"Are you mocking me?" Elio laughed, flicking Oliver's arm.

"Perhaps I am. What are you going to do about it?" He asked, the grin on his face audible in his voice. 

"What am I going to do about it? Oh, just you wait." Elio would do something about it. He would. Just maybe not right now. The fatigue that he had felt in his own tent seeped back into his bones, making him heavy and idle. He craned his head up and kissed Oliver as a forewarning for what he was going to do about it, probably tomorrow as he was too close to falling asleep. The huffed laugh from Oliver's lips, probably in reaction to Elio's half-baked threat, inspired Elio to reapply himself to the kiss with a fervour that wasn't hard to find, pressing closer until their chests touched. He kissed him languidly now, over and over until his lungs were aching, and then some more. With some introspection, Elio found that he was the most content he had been in a long time, perhaps forever. Warmth like that of intoxication erupted within him and spread from his chest, from where it had been borne, to the tips of his toes and fingers. They were both oblivious to the rain that poured and the wind that howled and the floor that was coarse and lumpy beneath them, choosing instead to be conscious of each other. Conscious of how their ribs expanded and shrank with desperate breaths, how their hands searched and caressed and held, as if their bodies were precious and delicate. 

Upon pulling back and gazing down upon Oliver, Elio found that his eyes were dark and glistening like a sleepy blue ocean under a full and lustrous moon. The beauty of his face, which was open and honest and sincere, was so profound that it made Elio ache. His whole body was thrumming with the soft, lazy energy that passed between them. After kissing Oliver just once more, he reached up and turned off the camping light that was hanging from a bar above them. He was close enough to Oliver that he could still see his face without the light, now a picture of deep blue and black shadows. He lowered himself again, resulting in a hitch in Oliver's breath, kissing messily from beneath his ear, along his jawline, down the tendons of his neck, and along the parts of his chest that were bare, where he found his final resting place. He wouldn't go any further tonight. Oliver's heart was still racing beneath him, but it started to slow gradually.

"Goodnight, Oliver," he whispered into his chest.

"Goodnight," Oliver replied, his voice muffled in Elio's hair. With that, Elio rushed swiftly into the arms of sleep.

***

Elio awoke to gleeful shouting the next morning.

"Get up, Oliver! It's our last day, and I intend to make the most of it," Marzia's voice called out. Elio shot up, realising too late that they would be discovered. The zip carved open its daunted path and revealed them to a grinning Marzia. She looked from one of them to the other, and to Oliver's hand where it was still splayed over Elio's bare hip under his hoodie, and her grin returned. "Oopsie," she whispered, zipping the tent up again and leaving. The footsteps retracted for a short distance until she shouted "Get up!" again. Apparently the brief interruption hadn't distracted her from her goal of forcing them up and out. Elio flopped back down, sighing and hiding his face against Oliver's clothed ribs. 

"I don't _want_ to get up," he grumbled in response to Marzia, who couldn't hear him. Oliver took a deep breath, his chest expanding against Elio's face, and rolled over to look at him. Elio looked disgruntled at the loss of his headrest. He resituated himself on Oliver's arm. 

"Are you okay? With them seeing us, I mean," Oliver asked, reaching out to touch Elio's jaw.

"Yeah. I already told Marzia that I liked you," he admitted somewhat guiltily.

"I gathered," Oliver grinned. "I'm pretty sure Stephen knows too. Chiara definitely knows."

"That I like you?" Elio asked, frowning at the idea that he was so easily read.

"That I like _you._ " It took a second for Elio to interpret that, but when he did he paled.

"Did you break up with her because of me?" Old fears were renewed. "Everyone told me that it was mutual."

"It was mutual, I promise. I wouldn't lie about that," he rushed, trying to assuage any guilt that Elio was starting to feel. "She brought up the topic first, and I agreed that we should break up, because I'm gay, obviously," he gestured at their embrace and a laugh bubbled up in Elio at the way he had deemed it obvious, but he held it back. "I feel like this whole explanation is overdue," He looked at Elio questioningly, trying to gather whether he felt the same way or not. When Elio nodded he continued. "I didn't get with her knowing that I was gay. I thought I was bi, and I guess that I should have really done some soul searching before I made up my mind, but here we are. I realise now that I was not attracted to her, and that it was probably just friendly admiration." Elio snorted at that, knowing exactly what he meant from his whole situation with Marzia. "So yeah, she told me that she thought we should break up because she thought she should be single for a while, and I agreed and gave her my reasons. I didn't actually tell her that you were such a big reason as to why we had to break up. By then I was so sure that I had to have you. She grilled me on the way home, insisting that I liked someone, and that she could guess who it was. Believe me, she did not leave out a single person when she went through the lists of people that I might have liked. Eventually she admitted that she already knew that it was you, and she was happy about it. No grudges were held, and here we are," Oliver smiled, pulling Elio in to kiss him briefly. Elio sighed contentedly.

"You know, I think this whole camping trip was just to get us together. Marzia told me to do something about us before she took it into her own hands, and this is her taking it into her own hands. She told me as much on Wednesday when we were walking home from school." A smile was building on Oliver's face. "What?" Elio asked, reaching out to trace his upturned lips.

"She told me the exact same thing," Oliver laughed.

"What? When?" Elio asked eyebrows furrowing. Marzia had had a bigger hand in this than he had thought.

"On Sunday about an hour after you left to speak to her about something that you said was urgent. She called me and told me that she was sorry about the breakup, I told her that I was gay, and then asked her if you had said anything to her about what happened that evening. It was a very vague conversation, and she never actually told me that you had said anything, but I could gather that you had. Anyway my point is, she said that something would be done about it if we hadn't made any advancement by Wednesday. And now look at us, Friday morning." Elio opened his mouth to speak, but ended up laughing instead. 

"What a mess. We could have been here so much quicker. You mentioned Sunday. What was that whole thing? Did you devise some great plan to get me into your attic and then do nothing about it?"

"No, it wasn't some great plan," Oliver laughed. "I just knew that I needed to see you, even if all we were going to do was watch TV, and then once we were in the attic, I knew I had to hold you." Butterflies bounced around in Elio's stomach at the urgency of those words. "And I don't recall doing _nothing_ when we were in the attic. I got what I wanted. I held you. I even kissed you, though it wasn't where I wanted, or nearly as much as I wanted. I think I would have kissed you if Marzia didn't interrupt."

"Always interrupting," Elio rolled his eyes playfully. "Well you can make up for that lost kiss now, if you want," Elio said demurely, glancing at Oliver's lips. 

"I could," Oliver considered, rolling to hover just inches above Elio, who was well on his way to being breathless already.

"You _should,_ " Elio insisted, shuddering as the words made his lips brush against Oliver's.

"I could," Oliver repeated, staring entirely at Elio's lips now. "But we need to get up." Oliver rolled away and sat up without so much as a kiss on the cheek. Elio stared at the back of his head indignantly and forced himself up. He swung his leg over him and kneeled so he could look down at his face. He was grinning up at him. Clearly this was his goal all along.

"I told you not to tease me last night. What's the point of teasing when you can have me without pretence?" He asked, pouting.

"It's fun to watch you get worked up," Oliver whispered. Elio hummed as if he understood, and then parted his lips slightly. Oliver mirrored him, looking from his eyes to his nose to his chin. He leaned down further until there was hardly any space between them and met his hooded eyes as he traced his bottom lip with his tongue. Oliver's hand snaked up beneath Elio's clothes and settled on the warm skin between his shoulder blades, clearly intending to bring him closer, but Elio freed himself from his embrace and climbed out of his lap. As he undid the zip to leave the tent, he peered over his shoulder to look at an overwhelmed and wanting Oliver.

"It's fun to watch you get worked up."

He shoved his feet into his shoes and emerged from the tent, closing it behind him. As he sauntered over to the dampened firepit, Stephen lowered a mug of some steaming drink that he was sipping from.

"The walk of shame," he murmured, smirking before raising the mug to his lips again. Elio scowled and held his middle finger up to him as he passed to sink down in one of the camping chairs. Stephen was the last person he had expected to say anything. He stared blindly at the blackened firepit and found himself already regretting leaving Oliver in the tent without kissing him stupid first. It wasn't that he felt bad for Oliver, he just desperately wanted to kiss him again and he imagined that there would be no opportunity to do so throughout the day. Marzia, who was sat across from him, was pressing her lips together in what seemed like an attempt to quell laughter. He glared at her.

"My tent ripped. It was raining. Oliver was already awake so I decided to share his tent so I wouldn't have to wake Chiara up. Will that explanation suffice?" 

"It depends," She started. "Is it the real explanation?"

"Yes, its the real explanation, my evidence being," he gestured to his poor tent. "And even if it wasn't, I wouldn't be giving you the real one over the campfire," he hissed, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes at her before standing to make his own coffee. He made Oliver some too, conveniently knowing how he liked his coffee from all the times he had been round to his house. He left the mug by the camping stove and reclaimed his seat. 

" _Someone_ woke up in a bad mood," Chiara said, sitting down next to him with a bowl of cereal. He narrowed his eyes at her and lowered his head to take a sip of coffee. "Well you had better cheer up soon because we're gonna pack up and go to some hiking spot an hour away, and I don't want you to put everyone else in a bad mood." Elio huffed pettily, knowing that his mood was nothing other than that: petty. He would see Oliver again in a matter of minutes, and he would be happier for it. Until then, Elio sat in silence as Chiara ate happily next to him and Marzia and Stephen leaned into each other to murmur privately among themselves. He had been right. When Oliver emerged minutes later, dressed and smiling, Elio felt the bitterness withdraw to be replaced with the same amber-gold honey from last night. He stood as Oliver walked over.

"I left you some coffee by the stove," he said, stopping him with one hand on his bicep as he passed. Oliver thanked him sweetly and stooped to kiss his cheek before Elio could continue his journey to the tent. He proceeded to grin like a madman and blush as he changed his clothes in the tent. It was going to be one hell of a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!


	12. It's Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows but no one is saying it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really just. Them. Kind of a filler, kind of just them. Idk but man it made me feel lonely. Oh it's a really long one too! Sorry if that's bad, you're welcome if it's good.
> 
> The title is obviously in relation to this chapter, but it's also relevant to the timing of this update: it's late! That's because I'm stupid. There was a little problem with this fic and I had no idea where to go next even though I started out with a solid plan, but I realised there was a simple solution. Anyway, how are you all? I've missed you.

Elio was in better spirits for the rest of the day. He reasoned with himself that he would most likely be able to see Oliver alone when they got home, and that kept him from being too much of an asshole. He had waited this long for Oliver, what was another few hours? The car ride to the hiking spot that Chiara had found was rambunctious, to say the least. All five of them seemed to be in high spirits despite the fact that they were going home that evening. Elio sat in the front with Marzia, while the others sat in the back squabbling over playlists. Stephen, level-headed as always, acted as mediator at first, but he lost all of his placidity when Chiara began to demand that they add 'Livin' On A Prayer' to the playlist. 

" _Absolutely_ not," Stephen said, snatching the phone from Oliver, who was fulfilling Chiara's wish. He began to frantically attempt to delete the song. Oliver held his hands up in surrender as Chiara leant across him and tried to seize the phone.

"Why? It's a good song!" Chiara insisted.

"It is _not_ a good song," Stephen replied, now leaning as far away as he could get and scrolling through other playlists.

"Oliver, back me up," She implored.

"I'm not getting involved." Elio glanced at them and upon meeting Oliver's eyes, began trying to hold back laughter at the petulance of it all.

"There is absolutely no way I am going to let you play that song," Stephen said, pointing a finger at Chiara who looked as if she had half a mind to bite it. "It's terrible. It's the kind of song my dad listens to. Should I start calling you dad, now?"

"Kinky," Oliver muttered, not helping his case at all. Chiara smacked his arm but wasn't deterred from her mission, while Elio shook with laughter and Marzia pressed her lips together in an attempt to keep back her grin.

The rest of the car ride was much of the same: antics and barely controlled chaos in the backseat providing entertainment for Marzia and Elio in the front. It took them about an hour to get to where they were going, as Chiara had said. It was a nice morning to be out, despite the rain that had come down in sheets last night. There were a few white clouds drifting about, but other than that the sky was wide and bright, a rich cornflower blue. The parking lot at the bottom of the hiking trail was surprisingly busy, but then again it was a Saturday morning. A fresh, cool breeze tossed Elio's hair about as he got out of the car. It wasn't unwelcome; it would keep them from getting too hot under the spring sun as they walked. He took a coat this time, learning from his walk the previous night, and stood at the back of the car as he pulled it on. Chiara and Oliver stood at a wooden gate at the bottom of one of the stone paths of the trail, talking animatedly about something while Stephen read a little plaque on a fencepost. He was watching them when he felt a tap on his elbow. He span to find Marzia, who was grinning at him. 

"So?" She asked as he zipped up his coat.

"What?" he acted innocent despite knowing exactly what she meant.

"What happened for you to end up in Oliver's tent?" 

"I already said that mine broke."

"The Elio I know would rather have slept in the rain than actually put himself in a compromising situation with Oliver."

"Yeah, well."

"What changed?"

"I'll tell you about it later," he smirked, knowing that she would be dying to know. He walked away and joined the rest of his friends on the other side of the carpark. 

"Master of suspense," she whispered as she passed him and walked through the gate.

They picked a path that wasn't as busy, finding that it was slightly more wild and overgrown as a result of disuse, but in Elio's opinion that only made it better. The paths were narrow in some areas, forcing them to walk in a row until it opened out again. At one point Elio found himself at the back of the line with Oliver in front of him. He reached forward and took Oliver's hand because that was something that he could do now. Oliver looked back over his shoulder and smiled sweetly, putting both of his hands behind his back to hold Elio's. It was strange that he could get so much contentment out of one private, simple act. He sighed and let the warmth of it consume him. 

At one point the path opened up to a stretch of rogue, feathery grass interrupted in places by great craggy rocks jutting up from the earth. A creek ran through the clearing, from which they could hear water splashing and pebbles tumbling. They stood on the edge of the open area after emerging from the trees, in awe of the beauty and the vastness of the scene before them. Elio had let go of Oliver's hand, but he stood close enough to his side that there was hardly any loss of contact. 

"Shall we eat here?" Chiara asked, holding out the bag that she had been carrying. They all nodded their assent and then set out for a place to sit down. They had been walking for a long while before they got to that clearing, and they were eager to rest. The group scoped out a relatively flat rock and, foregoing any kind of blanket or covering, sat down to eat. A surprising amount of food and water was pulled out of Chiara's bag, and Elio almost felt bad that she had carried all of it by herself for the whole walk. As they ate, Elio sat back and thought to himself that this was one of those days would serve as a source of nostalgia and bliss for years to come. It was warm under the sun and the breeze was just right, conversation never got old and never had to be forced, jokes came easily and smiles were hardly given a chance to fade. Yes, it was one of those days that made you ache for the summer while in the dark depths of winter. It was beautiful. Oliver was beautiful, too. He sat across from Elio, grinning widely and laughing freely. Every so often his eyes would meet Elio's, would catch if only for a second, and it would rip the air from his lungs. He had never been unaffected by Oliver, but now that he had some claim to him, and now that he could give himself up to him without a second thought if he so wished, every feeling was magnified. 

They packed up after a while and explored the stretch of open land that they had come across. He squatted by the side of the creek with Oliver and Marzia, staring into the rushing water. There wasn't much to see but they watched it nonetheless. Marzia sat down after a while, running her hand through the cold, crystalline water and catching a smooth, worn pebble. Oliver sat too, turning his face to the sun and closing his eyes. Elio watched him, not even noticing the affectionate smile that had crept up onto his own face. Marzia was busy inspecting handfuls of glistening pebbles, whether on purpose to give them some sense of privacy or because she was genuinely interested by them, Elio didn't know. He stood up, endeavouring to leave them, but he was unable to resist the temptation to run his warm hand over Oliver's breeze-chilled cheek just for a second before he left. There was a small sigh of contentment as he turned, and then nothing more until he was a few steps away.

"Is that a fish?" Marzia asked, her voice carried by the breeze to where Elio was walking away. 

"Marzia, that's a leaf," Oliver answered her. Elio sniffed out a laugh.

"Is _that_ a fish?" She asked again.

"Oh, that is a fish." Eventually their voices got too faint to interpret as Elio got further away. He found the biggest sheet of rock in the clearing and walked up the sloping edge, sitting and letting his feet dangle when he reached the top. The wind was a little wilder further up. It whipped his hair about and whistled around him until nothing was audible except for the heavy thudding of his heart in his ears. He traced the contours and crevices of the rock beneath him and wondered how long it had been there. Centuries. Millenia. Forever. Time was a scary thing to him. Always too much or not enough. There was never a break, never a respite or a safe place from time, and it could take as much as it gave. He turned back and looked from friend to friend, and a ridiculous fear set in. Too little time with what he loved and he would be left with an ache and an unfillable void. Too much and it would surely rot, as all sweet things do. He pushed it to the back of his mind for that moment. There was nothing he could do about it, and he would be damned if he let it ruin the present. 

***

They walked further up the trail until they found a waterfall about eight metres high, likely contributing to the little creek they had found in the clearing, before walking back to the car having been out for around three hours. It took them another hour and a half to get back to the parking lot. They were much quicker leaving because it was downhill, mostly, and they didn't take as many breaks to explore the places that they had already seen. The car ride home was much calmer, a result of spending all of their energy getting up and down that hiking trail. There wasn't much arguing over playlists as they had found one that suited all of them. There was an incident with Marzia declaring that Cher sounded like a 'microwave that had been given the gift of sentience,' what, with all the autotune, but that was glossed over. 

They had been driving for nearly two hours, putting them at just after 6pm with another hour and a half to go, when they decided to stop for food. There wasn't much around on the long stretch of road that they found themselves on, so when they came across a gas station and a quiet looking diner they decided they would take their chances. Elio, who was sat in the back with Marzia and Stephen, thought back to when they had stopped at a gas station on their way up to the campsite on Thursday. It was strange how much things had changed since then. Well, not really. He and Oliver had both clearly liked each other then, too. The only thing that had been stopping them was themselves. Elio climbed out of the car, almost tripping over a pothole in the concrete beneath him. It was colder now that it neared evening, so he pulled the sleeves of his sweater down further and wrapped his arms around himself. 

They skipped straight past the gas station and headed for the somewhat dingy little diner. There was a flickering 'open' sign beckoning to them from the other side of the glass door. It seemed so stereotypical of an old diner that Elio almost laughed. The door chimed as they filed in one by one before grouping together to find a place to sit. The strip lights were so white and unnatural that it gave the place the feel of an alternate dimension, and the fact that it was quiet and empty only added to the illusion. Elio didn't mind; it was warm and the food smelled good, which was all he really cared about in that moment. 

"I'm going to the bathroom," he stated, looking around for any kind of sign. He was hoping the faucets ran hot water because his hands felt frozen stiff despite the warmth of the sketchy establishment that they had found themselves in.

"Me too," Stephen said, following Elio who was already on his way. The bathroom was...not great, to say the least. It was dim, owing to the fact that one of the lights was broken and the plastic casing of the other was serving as an insect graveyard. The only other source of light was a tiny square window in the corner of the room. The walls and white ceiling were considerably grimy, looking as if they had been subjected to confined group chain-smoking for years. The floor tiles were a clay red, a few cracked in places, and the grout, which was likely once white, was now as grimy as the walls. He didn't look anywhere else, choosing instead to just wash his hands as he had intended. The only saving grace was that it didn't smell and that the water was hot, thankfully. He stood and ran his hands beneath the water while looking at himself in the little mirror above the sink. He had grown used to his own face over the years, as everyone did. It wasn't good, it wasn't bad, at least as far as he could tell. It was just him. He wondered what Oliver saw, if he saw the same as him. His thoughts were broken up by Stephen, who was now washing his hands, too.

"Have you just been washing your hands this whole time?" he asked, furrowing his brows.

"They're cold," Elio frowned. They had started to thaw, fortunately. He would be fine in a minute.

"Right. Well, I'll see you outside," Stephen said, pulling open the door with his sleeve over his hand. Elio smiled in response, finding it kind of strange that Stephen felt he had to offer a farewell when leaving the bathroom. The door had just swung closed when it opened again. Elio looked up, wondering if Stephen had perhaps left something, but found Oliver instead. He didn't say anything, just smiled and leaned back against the sink next to Elio, who smiled back and then turned the faucet off. He refused to look up at Oliver, making something of a challenge out of it. Oliver was rocking back and forth slightly as if he had something that he was eager to say. He was watching Elio, who could tell because the gaze was almost burning a hole into his head. He was made uneasy by it, worried that there was some bad news that Oliver was just waiting to spring on him. He dried his hands with a paper towel and finally turned to face Oliver once he had thrown it into the little plastic trashcan to the side of the sink.

"What's-" He was cut off abruptly by Oliver catching his wrist and pulling him towards him to capture his lips in a searing kiss. _Of course_ Elio thought, his eyes closing of their own volition and his mouth struggling between smiling and kissing back. His arms came up to loop around Oliver's neck, to pull him close, as if they had been doing this for years. It was funny how easily they just fit together. The skin beneath the collar of Oliver's sweater was warm and smooth, it was everything that was real and right in the world. Or maybe just that bathroom. It didn't matter. Everything about the kiss felt hot and urgent, emphatic almost. They were caught up in a bubble of sound, a symphony of accelerated heart beats and desperate breaths. It was almost as if Oliver had been waiting all day.

Oliver pulled him closer between his legs, crushing their chests together as he wrapped his arms tightly around Elio's waist. There was no room to breathe, let alone move, and he wouldn't have it any other way. A hand slipped beneath the soft worn wool of his sweater, skimming up over his spine until he shuddered and had no choice but to kiss harder, and coming to rest over his shoulder blade. Oliver's other hand joined it on the opposite shoulder blade, pulling him closer. He hadn't forgotten that Oliver was the one backed up against a sink. He pulled back, finding a dismayed and very out-of-it Oliver, and then made quick work of his neck. He remembered kissing him this way when they had shared the tent last night, but he had been half asleep and didn't have enough consciousness to do himself justice. Though he would have loved to continue the path he had been messily kissing along Oliver's throat, he remembered that they would have to join their friends again soon, and it wouldn't do either of them much good if the marks that he had practically already imagined out blueprints for began to show mid-meal. He pulled back and watched Oliver, who had his head tipped back, swallow convulsively. He lifted Oliver's head himself for one final kiss. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, but he seemed to regain his sanity soon enough. Elio, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind Oliver's head, didn't look any better. His eyes were wild, his lips kissed red, and his hair unruly from the fingers that had been running through it and tugging at it. 

"I'm not going to make out with you in a disgusting bathroom," Elio said.

"You just did," Oliver replied, pointing out the major flaw in Elio's declaration.

"Shut up. I'm not going to make out with you in a disgusting bathroom _again,_ " he amended.

"Why?"

"Because the walls are awful. Not very good for being pushed up against."

"The sink worked just fine." Elio rolled his eyes playfully and stepped back from between Oliver's knees, pulling him up as he went. He looked in the mirror and tried to adjust what he saw, smoothing his hair back down and wiping his hand across his lips. Oliver smoothed his own hair back and pulled the collar of his sweater around a bit, trying to hide the red that was emerging there. Elio snorted at the ridiculousness of it all. Of course it would be embarrassing to walk back out having obviously just made out, but it's not like anyone would care other than making a little joke. Everyone most likely knew anyway. Still, he adjusted his clothes and tried his best to look normal. He crossed the room to the door and pulled it open with his foot as it hadn't completely closed from when Oliver came in. He turned, and upon finding that Oliver was following, made his way out into the long, dark hallway that took them back to the diner. He was about halfway out when Oliver tugged on his sleeve and pulled him back against his body again. He relaxed instantly, almost giving in to his insistent mouth, but he found his resolve at the last moment and pulled back.

"We have to go," he urged, not sounding at all serious when he was pulled tight against Oliver and grinning so hard that it hurt.

"Sorry, sorry," Oliver whispered, kissing him quickly once more. "But how can I not?"

"Once we get home," he promised. "But we have to go."

"Alright," Oliver said resolutely, standing up straight. They continued down the hallway with no more disturbances and rounded the corner. Their friends were sat at a table across the diner, where they joined them hoping that they looked normal.

"Bathroom make-out session," Chiara immediately said, disguising it with a cough. Marzia hid her smirk with a cup of coffee.

"What?" Oliver asked, perfecting his sincerity and innocence. He was too good at this. Elio presumed he gave Oliver's whole act away with the blush that fought its way onto his cheeks.

"Not in there. That bathroom was disgusting," Stephen said. Elio didn't know whether he was consciously trying to give them an alibi or if he genuinely thought the bathroom was too disgusting, but either way he was appreciative. 

"You took ages," Chiara narrowed her eyes.

"I had to wash my hands thoroughly. Like Stephen said, it was disgusting," Oliver shrugged. Chiara's eyes only narrowed more, but she gave it up. It was a relatively quiet meal, punctuated by half-hearted conversation and yawns. They stayed in their booth for a while after finishing, each one of them too tired to volunteer to drive. They watched as the sun began to dip closer to the horizon, tinting the blue sky darker and darker by the minute. They left eventually when Oliver volunteered to drive, stepping out into the shadowy dusk and finding that a brisk chill accompanied it. The fatigue and the cold didn't mix well for Elio, who wanted nothing more than to climb into his warm bed. The remainder of the drive was the most quiet it had been. They ran into a bit of traffic as they got closer to their town, most likely from people heading to anywhere with a better nightlife on a Saturday night.

Elio called home as they passed the final crossroad just before they got into the quieter residential roads. His mother greeted him warmly over the phone and asked whether his friends would be coming with him, too, or if he would be returning alone.

"Are you coming back to mine?" he asked, holding the phone away from his face. Marzia and Chiara replied with a joint 'yeah', as if they had been planning to all along. Stephen shrugged. He would do whatever Marzia did. Elio waited for Oliver, who turned to him as they waited for someone to cross the road. He swore the look they shared would have meant something if they weren't both so tired, but he brushed it off and held the phone back up to his ear to tell his mother that they would all be coming back to the house.

***

They were received with a warm welcome when they got back to the house. Elio introduced his mother to Stephen and re-introduced her to Oliver, who she had only met in passing a few times. He didn't miss the knowing look she gave him when the others made their way to the living room, but he chose to ignore it, though she was right and always had been. The clouds had come rolling in for the evening, blotting out the stars and the sliver of moon and rendering everything a thick inky black. The soft warmth of the living room with the quiet TV and few dim yellow lamps offered a perfect refuge from the wind that lashed about in the night air. The five of them settled wearily into soft couches and chairs, only half awake to witness whatever show was flitting about on the TV. It took a good half an hour for Elio to build up the motivation to offer to make coffee or tea. God knows they could have done with the caffeine. He stood up abruptly, hoping to trick himself into waking up a bit.

"Coffee? Tea? Water?" He asked, not bothering with full sentences. He recieved a chorus of assent and then had to discern what exactly it was that they agreed to. He stood in the doorway, meaning to go but realising that he wouldn't be able to bring five drinks from the kitchen by himself. He really couldn't be bothered to make multiple journies. Oliver noticed him lingering first and stood to follow him. The rest of the house was as quiet as the living room, and Elio wondered where his parents had gone. His father was likely in the study. The kitchen was softly lit with the light from the hood over the oven, a candle on the table, and an orange-yellow glow that spilled in from the light on the patio. Though most things in the kitchen were cast in shadow from the lack of light, he didn't bother turning the main light on because he knew it would be bright enough to blind him in his current state. 

He set some water to boil and pulled himself up to sit on the worktop from where he ordered Oliver about to get cups and coffee and sugar. He did, however, prepare the cups of coffee, thinking himself quite generous for it. Well, that was until he spilled about three teaspoons of sugar and Oliver, who had been laughing quietly at his clumsy sleep-addled movement, offered to take over. He handed over all duties and instead chose to watch the way the shadows played over Oliver's face. It was hypnotic, not at all helping to keep his eyelids open. Oliver looked up at him and grinned.

"You're really that tired?" He asked, leaning back against the counter opposite him. He nodded in response, holding out a hand for Oliver to join him. "I'm not going to make out with you in your kitchen," Oliver whispered, mocking his words from the diner bathroom. 

"Don't care. Hug?" He asked hopefully. Oliver gave in and stood before him. "Thanks," he murmured, flopping over and resting his chin on the shoulder before him. He turned to rest his cheek against the soft cotton below him and shelter his face in Oliver's neck, making him shiver when his breath danced over the bare skin. He laughed a bit at the reaction, and then closed his eyes, allowing himself and everything within him to be still. Allowing time to be still, if he could. He was so warm and comfortable that it would have been easy for him to sleep then and there. He found that it was nice to be still with Oliver. The passion and the heat and the breathlessness was nice, it was good. But this was nice too, and he could have both.

"Elio?" Oliver whispered, holding him even closer than he had before.

"Shush, I'm asleep," he mumbled, relaxing further until the only thing holding him up was Oliver, who laughed softly. It rumbled slightly in his chest, an Elio loved it.

"Sorry. The water's boiled."

"Okay," Elio said, as if it was of no consequence to him. He gave it another minute before he sat up again and detached himself from Oliver. He felt light and warm and content, filled with an overwhelming affection that he didn't want to give a name to. They returned to the living room with cups of coffee and heavy limbs. Despite the caffeine, it wasn't long before most of them were falling asleep again. They stood and collected themselves, stretching and yawning, and Elio stood too to see them off. Before they could leave, Annella came in to insist that they stay the night.

"It wouldn't be very wise of me to send the four of you out into the night when you were almost just asleep in my living room. The spare rooms are already prepared, you can get your stuff from the car and stay for the night," she commanded, clearly not taking no for an answer. She was thanked sincerely, and then it was a rush to get bags out of the car and up the stairs. Only once they were all stood on the landing with bags at their feet did Elio remember that he would have to divide them up into rooms.

"Alright," he sighed, making an action plan. "Marzia and Stephen, you can share obviously. Chiara and Oliver, um..." he wondered if it would be rude to make them share, but he also thought it was presumptuous of him to ask Oliver to share his room with him. Back to insecurity, he guessed. Just as it was with the tent.

"Oh I have an idea," Chiara said in a mocking voice, holding a finger up cartoonishly just to add to her whole act. "Why don't Oliver and Elio-" she was cut off mid sentence with a shuffle and a quiet yelp. He assumed Marzia had pinched her. Honestly, she was only going to say what they were all thinking. There wasn't much point hiding something that everyone could already see, but he did it nonetheless. 

"Oliver, I'll share with you," Chiara sighed, heaving a bag up on to her shoulder and walking down the landing to the guest room at the end. "If you're a kicker you're going to lose a leg," she warned, turning to walk backwards and point a finger at him before disappearing into the room. Oliver followed with his own bags and disappeared too. The door shut softly behind them. Marzia and Stephen left next, finding the other spare room and heading off. Elio stood in the empty landing for a bit, thankful that he was finally home and could sleep in his own warm bed for the night. On a mattress.

He entered his room, turned the light on, and found everything as he had left it except for a small pile of clean laundry on the desk chair, which he considered leaving to put away in the morning because he wanted nothing but to fall asleep. He put his bags down on the floor by his desk, only bothering to take out his toothbrush rather than unpacking everything, and found his softest pair of sweatpants to pull on. He went through the motions of going to sleep, brushing his teeth and washing his face only semi-consciously and then changing into pyjamas. He would have gone to sleep that minute, but formalities kept him from it. Instead, he did his rounds of the guest rooms, checking that everyone had everything they needed. He poked his head into Marzia and Stephen's room, finding Marzia stood by the door pulling a sweater on while Stephen was in the bathroom.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, knowing that if she did she would probably get it herself. Elio's home was a second home to her, his family a second family.

"No, thanks. I'll go and get a glass of water in a minute. I'll have a lovely chat with your mom all about you," she teased, patting him on the cheek. 

"You wouldn't." She raised an eyebrow, questioning his statement, and he smiled in return. "Alright, I'm going to sleep now," he said. She kissed him on the cheek and smiled, muttering a goodnight as he left.

"Wait!" she whispered hurriedly, catching the door as he was about to close it. "You were meant to tell me what happened last night for you to end up in Oliver's tent," she frowned. He huffed, thinking she had something more important to say than that.

"Goodnight, Marzia," he said with his back to her as he left her at the door and walked away, grinning when he heard her sigh. He visited Chiara next, who was brushing her teeth in the bathroom because she had been put in the room without an ensuite. He stood at the door which she had left wide open, waiting for her to notice him. She jumped when she did, putting a hand over her heart to calm herself. 

"I'm going to bed," He told her, leaning against the doorframe. "Do you need anything?" He knew she would likely help herself as Marzia did. She shook her head, saying something along the lines of 'I'll get it myself', though he couldn't be sure of the garbled speech. Her focus shifted to something behind Elio, and she took the toothbrush out of her mouth.

"Get me a glass of water!" She shouted through a mouthful of toothpaste to Marzia, who was going downstairs at that moment. He made a face at the toothpaste dribbling down her chin and laughed when she frowned. Then he turned and left with a quiet 'goodnight', going on his way to check in on Oliver who was in the bedroom at the opposite end of the hallway. The door was open when he got there, and he found Oliver lying on the bed with a book held open before him. The lamp on the bedside table illuminated half of him and casted the other half in shadow. Elio took in the scene, mourning the way it felt when he had fallen asleep with Oliver last night. He didn't pass the threshold, but Oliver looked up anyway.

"Do you need anything before I go to sleep? Water? Earplugs? Chiara is quite the snorer." Oliver smiled and shook his head.

"You'd be dead if she heard you speaking like that, and no, thanks."

"Alright." He stayed for another few moments, just smiling softly. "Goodnight, Oliver," He whispered.

"Goodnight." He blew a kiss before he left and heard Oliver laugh as he walked away. Chiara was walking along the hallway towards him, smirking.

"Thought I was going to have to take your bed for the night, then." He blushed and knocked into her shoulder, murmuring a 'shut up' but not quite keeping down a smile. He heard the door close behind him as she retreated to her room, and then he went to his own room, anticipating a good, long sleep. 

***

Elio woke up and after spending a good five minutes trying to fall back asleep, sighed. He rolled over to look at the glowing red numbers on his nightstand which read 02:34. Another sigh. He could lie there and try to sleep for another twenty minutes, but that would just leave him wide awake and frustrated, so he sat up slowly and pushed the covers off of himself. The floor was cold when he stood up, making him recoil momentarily before he got himself together. The light of the lamp, however soft it was, made him wince and forced him to take a second to adjust. He wished he could have just gone back to sleep. 

He thought about going on his phone or finding a book to read, but that would just keep him awake longer, so he decided to make the trek to the kitchen to get some water. The house was so quiet and still that it almost felt wrong to disturb it at such an hour. He ducked out onto the landing and tiptoed down the stairs, almost jumping out of his skin when his feet touched the cold tiles of the kitchen floor. He flipped the light on, searing his corneas for a second time that night, and went in search of a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He stood at the patio door when he got it, sipping and staring out into the pitch black garden. It was bizarre to see the garden at such a late hour when there was absolutely no movement except for the wind through the trees. It looked otherworldly. 

He put the curtain back in its place after a while, feeling that he may actually be able to sleep after his short bout of activity, and crept back up the stairs. There was a light filtering out from underneath the bathroom door when he reached the landing. He frowned but continued towards his bedroom. He was halfway to his room when the bathroom door opened and emitted a sleep-tousled Oliver, who turned off the bathroom light and closed the door, plunging them into near-darkness if it wasn't for the light on in the foyer downstairs. 

"Hey," Elio whispered, drawing up close and stopping before Oliver, only just able to see him. "What are you doing awake?"

"Fell asleep reading before I could brush my teeth. I just woke up and remembered."

"I didn't wake you up, did I?" He asked, placing an unnecessary hand on Oliver's shoulder.

"No, of course not," he smiled.

"Liar," he accused, seeing it in Oliver's eyes. Oliver laughed, quietly enough not to wake anyone. There was a moment of silence, both of them just standing and staring. Elio sighed and turned the downstairs light off, making it completely dark this time. He took the few steps to his closed bedroom door and leaned back against it, feeling that there was no reason to stay but also not wanting to leave Oliver, who leaned on the wall opposite him. He bit his lip, deliberating, and then leaned forward to kiss Oliver softly. He kept it short and sweet and then slipped into his room, turning to face Oliver who looked a bit taken aback. "Are you coming in?" he asked hopefully.

"If I must," Oliver sighed long-sufferingly, earning himself a whack on the arm. Elio flopped down onto his bed, leaning back against the cushions and holding his arms out, clearly expecting Oliver to join him. He didn't. Instead, he smirked and began to peruse the room, taking interest in any little thing on display. 

"It's a shame there's nothing embarrassing in here," he lamented, picking up a little wooden picture frame from the desk and smiling. Elio knew that it was a picture of him and Marzia when they were much younger, probably around five or six, sat by a little inflatable pool, Marzia with a hilariously large set of goggles and a snorkel for the few inches of water that they could most definitely not go diving in. 

"I think we have two very different ideas of what's embarrassing and what's not," he said, grimacing at the mental image of the photograph.

"Oh, this?" Oliver held up the photo. "That's not embarrassing. If it had happened, like, two years ago it might have been a different story, but you were little. I can barely tell it's you under that hair." He looked at the photo again and then looked at Elio, comparing. His eyes flitted to his hair, and he grinned. The bookcase was next up on Oliver's journey. Elio was slightly dismayed that Oliver had abandoned him in favour of looking around his room, and he said as much.

"Come back," he whined, rolling onto his side to watch Oliver, who chuckled at his pleas and then disregarded them. Elio thought it was rather cruel.

"You should really tidy up this bookcase," Oliver tutted, clearly enjoying teasing him to no end. He was right, though. Books were lined up and stacked and jutting out precariously, in some areas they were messy and leaning from where Elio had taken out a book and forgotten to put it back, in others books were crammed in where they really shouldn't be able to fit. It was a mess, but he felt that it suited him. Oliver picked out one of the older books, a worn little paperback with yellowing, dog-eared pages and little notes poking out here and there. Elio almost wanted to take the book from Oliver and put it back or hide it away somewhere, but he trusted Oliver.

"The Little Prince?" Oliver asked with a strange little smile on his face. "It's a kid's book, isn't it?" Elio began to dredge up all of his excuses.

"Well yeah, but it's _more_ than just a kids book, and my mom used to read it to me, and I can never get rid of a book, even if it is for kids." He finished off his terrible little explanation with a shrug, very unsuccessfully feigning nonchalance. Oliver had listened to it all in silence.

"I know. I have a copy of it, too." The strange little smile was back, this time bringing with it a misty, far away look in Oliver's eyes that left almost as soon as it had arrived. Elio smiled too, glad he didn't have to justify his ownership of the book any further. Oliver put it back and somehow found more stuff in Elio's room to look at. Elio gave up and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling again and playing the waiting game. Nothing else was said for another five minutes, both of them resolved to draw the other out, until eventually Oliver sat down. Not on his bed, unfortunately, but on the armchair in the corner of the room. He drew back the curtain a bit, looked out into the dark garden, and then let it flop back into place. Then he finally looked at Elio, who was already staring at him.

"Nice bedroom," he said casually, though there was a hint of a smirk behind it. Elio snorted, incredulous. 

"Nice bedroom? Is that all you have to say? Well then, what was your favourite part?" he asked mockingly. "Seeing as you paid it all so much attention."

"You," Oliver replied, laughing when Elio made a face at him.

"Ew."

"Ew?"

"Cheesy," he frowned, standing up and crossing the room very slowly. "Besides, it wasn't me. You didn't pay _me_ any attention."

"Saving the best 'til last?" Oliver was coming up with his own excuses now.

"You should be so lucky." He settled his knees either side of Oliver's legs and hovered above him. Oliver was grinning like a madman. 

"I should." Elio leaned forward as slowly as his wanting body and mind would allow until he made contact with Oliver's lips. From there restraint went out of the window. He had been thinking earlier about how when he kissed Oliver for the first time, it had been euphoric but there had been an undertone of regret. Not regret that he had kissed Oliver, absolutely not, but regret that he couldn't kiss Oliver for the first time again. He was slightly put out by the fact that he might not get the same feeling as when he first kissed Oliver. But then he kissed him again. And again. And then another time. He found that it didn't really matter whether it was the first time he was kissing him or not, because it was Oliver.

The key point about that was that he had been thinking it _earlier_ , because in that moment, in that chair with Oliver, he wasn't thinking at all. His brain had been replaced with fresh air, there was nothing up there at all. He was drawn forward by mindless desire for skin, for warmth and touch, for more and more of it. All that he could get. His hands were in Oliver's hair, pulling his head back so he was really looming over him. Oliver's hands, however, were getting more adventurous by the minute. They had travelled feverishly up Elio's back, making him shudder but unfortunately not drawing a noise from him. Well actually, it did draw noise, but said noise was breathy and delicate and taken in instantly by Oliver, whose mouth was as greedy as his hands, which were now resting with their fingertips lingering just below the waistline of Elio's sweatpants. 

Elio drew back for a second because his lungs were on fire and his heart was drumming hard enough against his ribs to audition for any jazz quartet and get in. In that second, the little bit of oxygen that he got made him devious. He pulled back further and contemplated Oliver. The sight before him put a hitch in his plans, what with the flushed cheeks, the heaving chest and the heavy-lidded eyes, but he got back on track soon enough. He climbed off of the chair on wobbly knees, his lips curling cruelly when he saw Oliver furrow his brow, and walked away. For the record, it wasn't an easy feat. First of all because his legs were weak and his head was spinning, but mostly because he really didn't want to walk away from Oliver.

He sat with his back against the headboard and his hands joined demurely in his lap, staring levelly at Oliver who was still having trouble breathing, but also looked concerned with the change of events. 

"Is something wrong?" he asked, his voice hoarse. Elio tried to keep the satisfaction off of his face.

"Oh, not at all," he said, inspecting his fingernails and looking much more disinterested than he felt. "I just thought that since you kept me waiting, I would return the favour." It was petulant and he knew it, but he lived to irk Oliver. He had been doing it since they met and he wouldn't stop now. The concern dropped from Oliver's face to be replaced with a condescendingly raised eyebrow and a knowing look. 

"You're stubborn Elio-" he loved to hear his name when Oliver's voice sounded like that, "-but you're not _that_ stubborn." Oliver stood up and came to sit by Elio.

"Guess we'll find out."

"Always running that smart mouth," Oliver sighed. He lifted his hand and ran his thumb along the bottom lip of 'that smart mouth', letting it drag a little. If Elio's resolve faltered, he didn't show it. His eyes were as fiercely resolute as ever. "Are you still feeling stubborn now?" he asked, leaning forward to kiss just behind the hinge of Elio's jaw with an open, hot mouth. 

"Yes," Elio answered, only just trusting his voice to deliver his lie intact. 

"And now?" Oliver placed a hand on the back of his neck, letting his head tilt back a bit, and half kissed, half licked his way along the pale tendons that stood out in the warm lamplight. Surely he felt the shiver. He definitely heard the gasp.

"Mhm." Oliver laughed, feeling any stubbornness crumble beneath his fingers but accepting the lie anyway.

"How about now?" The soft curve of Elio's collar bones were targeted next. Oliver grazed his teeth over the soft skin and then kissed at it with a reverence that was blasphemy at its finest. Elio was pliant in his hands, back bending to offer more of what Oliver cherished. There wasn't a reply this time, only a second shuddering, breathy gasp. "Told you."

"Shut up," Elio groaned, shifting himself to lie down and pulling Oliver on top of him. Oliver went happily, kissing Elio's lips until he was satisfied with his work there and reapplied himself to his neck with fervour. "Be careful, Oliver, I'm not Steve Jobs, I don't own any turtlenecks." Oliver, who was just beginning to suck a mark into the skin just under Elio's jaw, drew back and stared down at him like he couldn't believe what he had heard. 

"Could you not mention Steve Jobs while I'm doing some of my best work?" He asked. Elio threw his head back, laughing and bearing the column of his throat. Oliver, heeding his warning, diverted his attention lower. Elio's last few giggles were broken off into a low moan when Oliver slipped his hands beneath his t-shirt and began to pull it off. "Is this okay?" Elio nodded, eyes wide and lips parted. It was more than okay. They hadn't gotten this far before, but it was definitely okay. Oliver pulled his t-shirt off and discarded it, and then Elio pulled on Oliver's t-shirt, thinking it only fair. Suddenly he was faced with an expanse of bare, warm, breath-taking skin. He sighed happily and closed his eyes when Oliver kissed him softly, less vigour and tongue and more, just, acknowledgement. Oliver's chest brushed against his for a second, but it disappeared when Oliver resituated himself to kiss his way down Elio's chest. He was encapsulated in a haze, a kind of heat that sizzled in his veins and thrummed in his ears. He settled his hands in Oliver's hair, not knowing what else he could do, and surrendered himself completely. There came a moment when Elio thought that Oliver could never stop, that he would kiss lower and lower, and he was half sure that he didn't want him to stop. But only half. The other part of him had a brain, a very loud one, that shouted at him that he couldn't. It was the middle of the night and he wasn't at all mentally prepared for that and they were _only kissing_.

Oliver noticed, because it was Elio and he noticed everything about Elio. Always. He stopped, not abruptly or harshly, more like something that had simmered down gently, and turned his head to rest it against Elio's sternum where his heartbeat was strong, if it little fast. 

"It's late," Elio murmured, running his hands through Oliver's hair and smiling when he felt soft breath tickle his bare skin. 

"It _is_ late." He had presumably seen the alarm clock, which read some time just before 4am. A thumb stroked over Elio's side persistently, and eyelashes fluttered over his skin.

"Come here," Elio said softly for the second time that night, and Oliver did. Elio turned off the lamp and pulled the cover over them. A head on a chest, and arm around a waist, a foot over a shin, they meshed themselves together. It was warm and soft and right, and Elio, as he drifted off to sleep, thought that he could stay there for a while. A good, long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Stephen is taking on a himbo kind of vibe in my mind, and I don't mind it. Every friend group needs a himbo. In relation to the first note, I think there's going to be a second part to this because I know where I'm going to end it but I can't bring myself to leave it there. Anyway, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting :/ better late than never? OH BEFORE I FORGET that is not a personal opinion on Bon Jovi! Livin' On A Prayer is a classic.


End file.
